


my blood is singing with your voice

by sleeponrooftops



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bloodplay, Explicit Language, F/M, M/M, Sexual Content, Spoilers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 14:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He is mine,” Abaddon says with more conviction than she’d intended, and she knows how much Alastair sees.  She knows he sees the lust there, bubbling under the surface of her skin, but she knows he sees the pure desire, as well, to hold this human close and to curl around him, to whisper her love to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my blood is singing with your voice

**Author's Note:**

> Notes—
> 
> i. This fic is entirely inspired by [this](http://sleeponrooftops.tumblr.com/post/64788040106/gavinofreeno-how-bout-it-doll-long-live) post. Without it, I’d probably still be flailing around loving Abaddon and not really knowing where to put that to use.
> 
> ii. This is going to start with the end of S3, Dean going to Hell, and while I want to pretend I’m not going to spend a lot of time world-building, I probably will, but I promise it’ll be awesome. On that same vein, this started out as something and turned into something else rather quickly, so I’m interested to see how it’s received. Also, Hell is weird and forty years is a long time, and what the—I love bad puns, but that one was going to be terrible.
> 
> iii. I am very aware that Abaddon is not Lucifer’s child, but—and if you’ve read any of my Supernatural fics before now, you’ll certainly know this—he is my absolute favorite outside of the boys, and I thoroughly enjoy writing about him, and I thought it would be a nice little dynamic, he treating her as his daughter and vice versa, though the relationship is not an actual one, just something they have.
> 
> iv. This is both canon and AU. I’ll be following a lot of the canon storyline, but also diverting from it a little. On that same vein, though, as I reach season eight, I’ve taken some artistic liberties because I had ideas in mind, and I wanted to put them into play. The plot stays the same, but some small details are different. I’ve also highjacked some of the dialogue from S9, _Devil May Care_ , because holy hell they’re practically shipping it for me, but I did change a few things. I’ve also just been informed that I’m silly. Something happens while Dean is in Hell that messes up things with the Seals, but let’s just ignore that and pretend it all works out.
> 
> v. There is a paragraph somewhere in here that very briefly explains about samifer and their road, but I didn’t want to go too in depth with it because I’ve already done my samifer, and I’ll be honest, that entire paragraph is legit stolen from the _angel with a shotgun_ ([LJ](http://sleeponrooftops.livejournal.com/tag/title%3A%20angel%20with%20a%20shotgun) | [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/series/15120)) series. If you’re interested, I’ve linked it after the title, and it’s pretty epic, so go check it out.

_If you could only see the beast you’ve made of me,_

_I held it in but now it seems you’ve set it running free._

She first hears his voice crying out in Hell, tearing apart the mundane noises of the tortured souls she’s coming to hate until all she can hear is him, shattering apart.  She straightens from where she’d been curled in on herself, her fingers and lips stained red from the soul twitching beside her.  She’d wanted to paint her nails, and this particular soul had been the closest within reach without having to move much.  But now, she pauses in her work, head cocked, waiting.

 

It comes again, a beautiful noise, voice crumbling and breaking, and she lets her grey eyes flutter shut, letting it fill her.  A hum vibrates through her body, and she opens her eyes as she turns her gaze toward the cage, smiling wickedly.

 

“Daddy,” she says softly, sweetly, and Lucifer looks up, unblinking.  His right hand is tangled in feathers, smoothing out his wings, and Abaddon lets her gaze flicker over them, smiling at their beauty.

 

“What is it, Abaddon?” he asks quietly.

 

“I do believe Alastair has had his fun.”

 

“He is not for you, darling.  I need him whole.”

 

“Your vessel’s brother, finally?”  Lucifer doesn’t respond, and so Abaddon stands, kicking at the soul until it skitters out of her way.  “I promise to behave, daddy.  His voice stirs something in me.”

 

“Gentle,” Lucifer reminds, and Abaddon nods, smiling widely.

 

“May I relieve Alastair, then?”

 

“You may.”

 

“And if he complains?  He is so awful sometimes.”

 

“Abaddon.”  It is Lucifer’s tone that stops her, and Abaddon looks over at him, holding his gaze before she reaches one hand forward and curls it around one of the bars of the cage.  She leans forward, pressing her naked body along the bar and tucking her chin around it.  Lucifer allows her a small smile and looks back down at his wing.  “Are you not a Knight of Hell, the only child of mine left?”

 

“I am.”

 

“Then, if Alastair complains, destroy him.”

 

“Thank you, Lucifer.”

 

His smile widens mildly at the use of his full name, and Abaddon licks slowly over her lips, tasting the blood there and sighing before she twists away.  She reaches out a leg until her toes come in contact with the struggling soul, and she curls her toes until the soul screams, and she inhales.  It slithers up around her, forming into a black gown.

 

She walks barefoot through Hell, blackened souls parting around her as she goes, bowing low to her.  As she approaches Alastair, he pauses in his work, sensing her, and he turns sharply, frowning.  “The fuck do you want, bitch?” he sneers, glaring at her.

 

Abaddon looks past him to the soul on the rack, and her smile widens.  He’s still so whole, and she can see so much of him.  His naked body is stretched tight, the muscles fluttering beneath his skin taught with the strain, and she wants to sink her teeth into him and _feel_ him.  The want leaves her almost as soon as it comes, though, and she doesn’t lift her gaze from him yet, curious as to why she wants both to hurt him and to protect him.

 

Stretched out like this, bared to all of Hell, she can see all of him—the way his freckles dance, how the sun has kissed his skin, the calluses on his hands, the scars mapping his body, the sweat beading and pooling—and she wants it all.  His lips are parted, short, painful breaths pushing out of him, and his head drops to the side, relishing in the brief pause.  He is still so new, and yet, he perseveres, and she can see his strength and the true beauty of his soul.

 

And then he opens his eyes, and she is lost.  Lost as she has not been since the Fall, since she raged in Hell and tore her way out, screaming and bloody, ripping apart Heaven until she found Michael and she stabbed through one of his wings and tore out one of his white feathers, devouring it with her hatred.  He opens his eyes, green and still bright and searching, and she looks to Alastair.

 

“He is mine,” Abaddon says with more conviction than she’d intended, and she knows how much Alastair sees.  She knows he sees the lust there, bubbling under the surface of her skin, but she knows he sees the pure desire, as well, to hold this human close and to curl around him, to whisper her love to him.

 

“Lucifer?” Alastair asks, and Abaddon’s smile curls into something nasty.  “Your majesty,” he says, bowing lowly, and Abaddon pauses only a moment later before stepping forward, touching a finger to one of the bindings, loosening it.

 

He recoils, eyes flaring fear and _fight_ , and she closes the distance between them, hand flitting up to soothe over his face.  “I will not hurt you,” she whispers, and she can see in his eyes that he does not believe her, but she undoes his bindings anyway, releasing him.  “Come,” she says, turning from him, and Alastair doesn’t bother to hide his laughter, so she gauges his ruined, twisted soul so deep that what was once human in him reels back from it, and she knows he’ll feel her wound for years to come.

 

She can feel the human carefully climbing down from the rack, warily placing his feet on the fiery ground.  She turns when he does not follow and holds out her hand.  He stares at her for long moments before he swallows and takes her hand.  She curls their fingers tightly together and brings him away from the rack, away from Alastair’s pitiful torture.

 

She leads him not to the cage, but to her home nearby, along the walls that extend along the back of the cage, deeper into the pits of Hell than many souls ever can endure.  Her home is a deep cave that she leads the human through, down a long sloping tunnel that erupts into a wide, open space by a pool of warm water.  A bed of the most extravagant cloths and silks lies some feet from the pool, as well as an extensive mess of books that she’s stolen from Lucifer over time, only occasionally returning them to him.

 

“You will be safe here,” she says, releasing his hand and turning to him, “What is your name?”  He shakes his head, his eyes still fearful, and Abaddon steps away from him, lowering her gaze.  Her voice is soft when she says, “If you wish to leave, I will not stop you.  I will not allow Alastair to harm you any longer, nor any wretched being in this dark place, but I will not keep you here against your will.”  She looks back up at him and smiles softly.  “I will give you every comfort if you stay here, though.  I wish only to protect you and to know you, in whatever manner.  Will you accept or deny?”

 

“Neither,” he says, and her smile turns wicked.

 

“Intelligent, too,” she says, nibbling at the corner of her mouth.  “Well, then you may decide later.  For now, you look weary.  The water is not too hot, if you would like to bathe, and the bed is very comfortable.  I will return in a few hours.  If you are gone, I will not hunt you.  If you remain, I will keep my distance or not, whatever you wish.”

 

She leaves before he can speak again, and she is reminded of her time before the Fall when she leaves her cave and erupts back into Hell.  She feels light again, like she is still the most formidable of Lucifer’s knights, like there is nothing that may stand in her way, and she wants nothing more than to go back into her cave and lavish her human with every attention possible, but she refrains, knowing she must do this properly, must court him as she knows Lucifer will soon court his brother.

 

Abaddon takes a deep, steadying breath and slowly makes her way back to the cage.

 

——

 

Dean watches her leave him, unsure if he should follow her and try to take her by surprise or if he should just take advantage of this new situation he’s been put in.  He decides on the latter because he’s really having trouble catching his breath and walking on his own.  And so he waits until she’s out of sight, and then waits even after that, counting the seconds as they go by, until he’s sure he’s alone and he walks slowly over to the pool of water, carefully kneeling and reaching a hand forward.  He dips his fingers in, sighing at the heat of the water.

 

He eases himself into the pool, feet searching for the bottom.  It’s shallow, just something carved into the ground, and he sinks against the wall, letting his eyes slip shut.  He doesn’t know how long he lies there, soaking in the warm water, but, when he finally rouses himself, his fingers have pruned.  He quickly washes out his hair and face, dunking under the water, and then he struggles out of the pool and stumbles over to the bed.

 

He collapses onto it, not caring about his wet body against the beautiful fabrics, and he’s sound asleep in mere seconds.

 

——

 

When she returns, Abaddon is welcomed by the sound of soft, slow breathing and a steady heart.  She comes down the sloping tunnel to her cave, which is lit from within the walls, a dull glow with no source but the heat of hellfire.  The human is lying on his side, facing away from her, and she pauses at the entrance of the cave to admire him.  The muscles in his back are still visible, but not stretched so tightly anymore, and his shoulders shift with ease in sync to his breathing.  She lets her eyes travel from the slope of the back of his neck down the panes of his back, over his bare ass, and down his legs, taking in the tanned, freckled skin and smiling.

 

She walks slowly, her black gown creating a trail behind her, and she can hear his breathing shift as she kneels by the bed, setting her basket down.  She knows that this human is just a soul and that she can see his shape because he is not broken yet, but she also knows what it means to be so new to Hell, to not understand how to live amongst the demons.

 

Abaddon reaches forward and lays a hand on his shoulder, expecting him to jump and shout, to twist away from her and try to attack.  Instead, his breathing stops, and the muscles in his shoulders tighten.  “Demon?” he asks quietly, and her smile widens.

 

“I do believe I’m going to enjoy your company, human,” she says in return before lifting to her feet again.  She goes over to the pool, and she can feel his eyes on her.  He sits, not moving one of the blankets to cover himself, and so she turns, facing him as she reaches up, drawing a finger over her collarbone, pulling the smoke away from her.

 

She holds his gaze as she lets the gown dissolve, lets it morph back into the demon she stole it from, lets it drop carelessly to the ground, and she exhales slowly, her smile warped into a wicked grin before she turns and lowers herself into the pool.  She swims to the center and stands there, where it’s deeper, so that the water settles just beneath her shoulders.  She bends her knees a little, dipping the rest of her body in, and, when she comes back up, red hair wet and swimming around her, she keeps only her head above the surface.

 

“What is your name?” she asks softly, and the human responds with silence, staring at her.  Abaddon shrugs one shoulder and turns away from him to bathe.  He sits in silence for a few more moments before she can hear him rustling, and the wicker of the basket creaks a little.  “Those are for you,” she says without turning.

 

When she’s finished, she turns again, and he’s wearing the loose black clothes she managed to find in Lucifer’s cage.  She climbs out of the pool, watching his green eyes focus on her face, and she toes at the demon, pulling it toward her, until the smoke slithers up over her body and she is dressed in her gown again.

 

“Are you comfortable?” she asks, and he nods.  “Will you stay?”

                                   

“Will you treat me as Alastair has?  Have I traded one demon for another?”

 

“I am curious about you, human.  I do not want to harm you.  My father has accepted my request, and you will not be tortured while in Hell.  Do you know how long you have been here?”

 

“Ten years.”

 

“It is a wonder I did not hear you sooner.  Is there anything I can get you?”

 

“No.”

 

“Because I am a demon?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“How can I prove to you that my intentions are good?”  He remains silent, and Abaddon sighs.  “I will leave you for the night, then.  I will return in the morning, and my offer remains—if you leave, I will not hunt you, if you remain, I will keep my distance or not, if you wish.  Do you understand?”

 

He nods, and Abaddon leaves again before she or he can say anymore.  She retreats to the cage, where Lucifer stares at her for long moments before he says, “Why give him so much?”

 

“Will you not do the same with his brother?”

 

“More so, I’m afraid,” Lucifer admits, smiling softly as he looks away.

 

“I feel drawn to him.”

 

“You feel lust for him.”

 

“Yes, but that is not all.”  Abaddon steps in between the bars, coming over to sit before Lucifer, tilting her upward to look at him.  “There is something else there, something I cannot explain.”

 

“It is called love,” Lucifer says, looking back to her.  He leans forward and curls a hand around her jaw, smiling.  “I felt it once for Michael, and I fear I shall feel it again for Sam.”

 

“What is his name?”

 

“Has he not told you?”  Abaddon shakes her head, and Lucifer smiles.  “Let him.  If you wish truly to keep him, then he must gain your trust.  There is no telling if and when he will ever be saved, but I do not believe it will be anytime soon.  Use this time to your advantage, and proceed slowly.”

 

“Will you do the same with Sam?”

 

“I will try, but we have faces that these humans despise.”

 

“He doesn’t cringe from me.”

 

“Then maybe he sees you truly, as I do.  You are not only smoke and anger, my darling, but beauty, as well, and it is possible he sees that in you, as you see his humanness.”

 

Abaddon sighs and pulls away from Lucifer, looking out at Hell.  “May I stay here for the night?”

 

“Of course.”

 

_Screaming in the dark, I howl when we’re apart._

_Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart._

 

In the morning, Abaddon wakes to the feel of the human’s heart, thumping so hard and fast that it jerks her from her sleep, her breath caught in her throat.  She stares around at her dark room, hidden in the confines of the cage, and she listens to it stutter alongside hers.  She tears out of her room, smoke curling around her as she sprints from the cage and away toward her cave.  She can see them from here, more than a dozen demons leaking into her cave, and she lets out a thundering roar as she lunges off the ground and soars through the air toward them.

 

Abaddon destroys them with quick, furious snatches of her long, red nails, ripping them apart and dragging the last of their pitiful lives away from them, letting their blood splatter across her naked body until she drips with them.  She storms through the tunnel carelessly, and though she feels the rake of their nails and the bite of their teeth, the pain is numb to her until she is in the cave, and Alastair stands above the human, hand closed around her human’s neck.

 

She growls, a low, terrifying sound and snatches at the demon gnawing on her side, ripping him from her, tearing a sliver of flesh away and pouring red juice down her thigh.  She squeezes tightly, listening to the demon scream as Alastair curls his head toward her, sneering.

 

“Hello, bitch,” he greets, lips curving upward in an ugly smirk.

 

Abaddon brings her other hand around and tears the demon in half.  She inhales, drawing in the dying demon, and it shatters apart as she swallows it down.  Her skin glows with the fire of its death, and it leaks out from her, dirtying her naked body even further until she is a mess of black and dark red.  When she steps forward again, the cave shudders around her.

 

Her eyes are black and vicious, her lips parted in a snarl, her teeth flashing white and sharp in the dim light.  “Leave him,” she demands, her voice pitched low and dangerous.

 

When Alastair doesn’t comply, but instead squeezes harder, the human’s heart staggering into an erratic rhythm, Abaddon lets loose a wild scream, her red lips blown wide, her fingers spreading as her arms lift, and Alastair blows apart in a million bloody pieces, smacking grossly against the walls and ceiling and dripping onto the floor.  Her human drops to the cave floor, choking and gasping for air.

 

Abaddon’s scream continues to shatter through the cave until the last piece of him falls apart, the hand holding her human, and then she inhales, oxygen flooding down her throat, scraping it raw.  She keeps her arms raised even as the pieces slither back together, and she watches them reform, waiting until Alastair is standing again.  He is white like snow and struggling for air, and he staggers, crashing to his knees.

 

“Get out,” Abaddon hisses, her voice hoarse.

 

He stumbles up and out haphazardly, and Abaddon doesn’t move until he’s gone, her arms sagging down at her sides.  She feels the pain now, and it is not even pain but agony, white hot and tearing through her until she can barely breathe.

 

“Human,” she manages to say, her eyes fading back to grey as she looks over at him.

 

“Thank you,” he spits out, staring at her in shock and awe.

 

“Are you okay?” she asks, and then she collapses, body tumbling toward the ground, crumbling in a heap.  She tries to raise herself back up, but she is so weak, her body scraped raw and bloody until all she can see is red, and her vision starts to blacken around the edges, and then there are hesitant bare feet coming toward her, and she exhales into darkness.

 

——

 

Dean kneels beside her slowly, green eyes flickering over her body until he sighs and reaches a hand forward, lifting her mess of red curls away from her face.  Her eyes are closed, but her breathing is somewhat steady, and he takes that to mean she is only unconscious and not dying.  And so he carefully gathers her in his arms and brings her over to the pool of water, easing them both into it.

 

He washes the blood and demon smoke gently from her, and he marvels at how soft and _real_ she feels.  When he’s finished, he lies her on the cave floor before he climbs out and then lifts her in his arms again, bringing her over to the bed.  He lies her down and covers her with one of the silk blankets, pulling her wet hair out from under her so that it fans around her, drying.  He runs his fingers through it absentmindedly before he realizes his actions, and he shifts away from her, lying on his side and staring at the cave wall.

 

He doesn’t recall falling asleep, but, when next he opens his eyes, he’s in a very compromising position.  Whenever he and Sam had to share a bed, he always gravitated toward him, no matter what age, whether they were kids or teenagers or even grown adults, he couldn’t stand being away from him, and he doesn’t know if it’s because he was a warm body or because he needed to protect him, even in his sleep, or if it was just because Dean had never felt less alone than when he was pressed up alongside his brother.  And now, when he wakes, the demon has fit into the curve of his body perfectly—her long legs tangled with his, her fingers curled loosely around his wrist where it rests against her right shoulder, tucked around her, his face buried in the scent of her red hair and the soft skin at the back of her neck.

 

“Demon,” he whispers softly before he realizes what he’s done, adopting her pet name for him and turning it.

 

He can feel her smile when she tilts her head down and leans her cheek against his forearm.  “Human,” she whispers back, and he fights desperately to keep his own mouth a steady line, but it curls up at the corners, and he hides it in her hair.  “Are you okay?” she asks after a few beats of silence.

 

“Yes.”  He doesn’t want to ask, but it burns inside of him until he says, as quietly as he can, “Are you okay?”

 

“I will ruin Alastair for what he has done.  He knows you are under my protection, and yet—”

 

“It isn’t necessary.  Thank you for saving me.”

 

“And thank you, human.  I had not thought I would need saving, but it seems I was too reckless in trying to get to you.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“The demons.  I was careless.”

 

She shifts, lifting his arm, and he pulls it away, watching as she turns until she’s facing him, moving close until her breasts brush against his chest, her left knee rubbing against his as she tucks her other between his thighs.  His cock stirs, and he licks his lips, gaze darting to her mouth, which shifts from a soft smile into a wicked grin.  He quickly moves his gaze upward again, meeting hers, but her grin is mirrored there, and it makes his heart thud a little harder.

 

“What is your name?” she asks, but he just bites his lip and swallows it down.  “Do you trust me?”

 

“No.”

 

“You’re lying.”

 

“I might be.”

 

“I’ll revise.  How much do you trust me?”

 

“Very little.”

 

“But you do, and you are starting to more.”

 

“Yes.”

 

She lifts her knee higher, pulls herself closer until her thigh rubs along his balls and settles, her breasts pushing lightly against his chest.  “Do I repulse you?”

 

“No,” he says, frowning, and she smiles.

 

“You are concerned that I do not.  What do you see when you look at me?”

 

“A woman.”

 

“Not a demon?”

 

“No.  Why is that?”

 

“I haven’t the faintest.  Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?”

 

“No.”

 

“A man.”

 

He’s taken aback at this answer, having expected her to see something twisted and ugly, something that would attract the demon in her, but instead, she sees _him_.

 

“I see _you_ , human, just as I imagine you look filling your real body, walking amongst those brutes that God so readily gave his love.  I see—” she pauses to trail her fingers down his arm, and she continues only when her nails drag over his hand, “—a man of strength and passion, but also of fear.”

 

“To live without fear is to die,” he says, watching her blink, expecting a sudden burst of black and seeing only grey.  She is so human that it makes his head pound, and he wants nothing more than to both cringe away from her and draw her closer.

 

Like a snake, her hand darts forward, long fingers curling around his cock, and Dean lets out a soft, unexpected groan when she squeezes up his shaft, thumb sliding over the head.  His hips jerk forward in response, the muscles in his abdomen fluttering as he feels her nipples harden against him, and he can’t seem to stop his hand as he lifts it, curving around the perfect roundness of her breasts, squeezing lightly.  He sneaks a thumb in between them, brushing it over her nipple, and her breath rushes out before she shifts even closer, her hand curling tightly and bringing the head of his cock up to her, sliding apart her folds and rubbing it against her clit.

 

Dean lets out a shuddering breath, fingers flexing over her breast, mouth open and dry.  He licks over his lips, watching her draw in her bottom one, teeth dragging over it.  She rubs the head of his cock down her cunt to push lightly at her entrance, and Dean groans at the way he can feel her muscles responding.

 

“I want you inside of me, human,” she whispers, grey eyes still locked on his green ones.

 

Dean releases her breast to twist his hand between them, thumb coming out to part her folds and drag up against her clit, rubbing in small circles until he presses there and her breath whines out, hips jerking toward him.  He continues rubbing, curling his fingers down so he can reach with his index finger, feel how wet she is, and he lets his eyes flutter shut at the feel of her.

 

“I want to come on your cock,” she says, and Dean groans, hand leaving her to push at her shoulder and shove her onto her back.  He looms over her, knees pressing her thighs apart, and he guides his cock to her entrance, rubbing the head there in slow circles until she hooks a leg around him and pulls him closer, nudging the head of his dick just inside.

 

He can feel how badly she wants to flip them, to press him against the bed and ride him, but he can also feel how she’s trying to give herself to him, trying to ask for more of his trust.

 

And then all he can see is Sam’s face, tears leaking out of his bloodshot eyes as he grips his dead shoulders tightly, shaking him once before he sobs out his name, and Dean flinches backward, jerking away from her.  He gasps, pushing to his feet, trying to take a step and crashing to the ground, chest heaving as he chokes, no air reaching his lungs.

 

Dean feels her hand on him, and he jumps away from her touch, shaking his head.  “Get away from me, _demon_ ,” he hisses, and her hand turns into sharp nails, digging into his shoulder.

 

And then they’re fighting.

 

She jerks him forward and then slams him backward, his head thudding painfully against the ground.  Her nails dig sharply into his shoulder, drawing blood, and she leans forward to lap it up with her tongue.  When she lifts her head again, she smears his blood across her mouth with the back of her hand before moving to kiss him, and Dean pulls a leg up between them, unbalancing her and throwing her from him.  He twists after her, sliding an arm under her leg and hooking her left knee up over his shoulder.  He presses his right palm flat against the ground by her ribcage, curls his left around her hip and yanks her toward him, her bare skin scraping against the hard ground.

 

“Fuck me,” she growls out, and he does, thrusting hard inside her, hard enough to seriously bruise a human, but the demon just moans and arches up toward him.  Dean leans down with the intention to kiss her and changes paths hallway, mouth landing on her collarbone and teeth sinking in.  He doesn’t bite and suck to bruise but to hurt, and the taste of copper fills his mouth briefly before he pulls away, trailing kisses up her chest and neck until he bruises her jaw and then bites at her bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth.  She laughs at him, fucking _laughs_ at him, and then her hand comes up, threading through his short hair and tugging sharply until she can claim his mouth, and her tongue is hot and fast.  Her other hand she tightens around his shoulder, long, red fingernails raking over the muscle there until he’s getting flashes of pain in between the pleasure.

 

And the _pleasure_ —he’s been with his fair share of women and men over the years, but the demon opens up something primal in him, something he’s never fully witnessed before, and it makes his vision a little black around the edges, but he loves it, chases after it until they’re both panting.

 

Dean reaches a hand between them when her moans start to come less and softer each time, brushing over her clit before he’s rubbing it, and her voice pitches up high and sweet, a quick, unhinged keen before he feels the muscles in her thighs tighten and tremble, and he’s barely blinked before he’s on his back.  She presses two hands against his chest, nails curling out to grab at him, wet, warm pussy clenched tight around his cock as she fucks down onto him.  He brings his hand back up, thumb pressing in, and her voice pitches up and up until Dean can feel heat coiling in his belly, and he groans softly, meeting her thrusts with his own.

 

Dean grabs at her, pulls her close to him before they’re rolling again, and he holds her down, wrists tucked in his strong fingers above her, his other hand still rubbing, still pushing her closer and closer to the edge.  He closes the last space between them, kissing her fast and hard, and she kisses back like he’s the last person she will ever have, and it makes his head spin.

 

When she comes, she breaks one of his fingers.  Her right arm jerks violently, he loses his grip with a shout of pain, and her fingers thread through his hair tightly, pulling him away as she _screams_ , back bowing off the cave floor and pressing them together, no air between them.  Dean groans at the way she tightens spasmodically around him, inner walls fluttering, and then her voice tapers off into a breathless moan, her fingers sliding out to soothe over where she’s drawn blood again.

 

She pulls him close, hand cradling the back of his head, and she kisses up along the side of his face to his ear where she whispers, “Abaddon.”

 

Dean knows what that means, knows how implicitly she is trusting him with her name, and he buries his face in her neck, in the beautiful, human scent of her, her red hair tangled beneath her in curls that Dean just wants to thread his fingers through and _pull_.

 

He lifts away and looks at her and says, “Abaddon,” and he sees, with blinding clarity, her absolute beauty, and his orgasm takes him surprised, knocking the wind out of him so that he’s pressing his forehead against her shoulder and groaning his release, hips stuttering out of rhythm as his fingers bite into her hip and his blunt fingernails break skin.

 

It is long moments before Dean can pull out and away, dropping onto his back, and he groans as his broken finger shifts.  Abaddon laughs softly and reaches over, trailing one red nail along his finger.  It heals as she goes, and he watches in amazement.

 

“I didn’t know demons could heal,” he admits, and Abaddon shrugs.

 

“We usually cannot, but being a Knight of Hell has its benefits.  My powers are quite extensive, human.”  Dean doesn’t respond, and she sighs.  “Still no name?”

 

“I don’t trust you.”

 

“You shouldn’t.  But, then again, I’m not entirely sure I trust you, and I’ve given you my name.”

 

Dean just shrugs, turning his head to look over at her, and he can’t help smiling because her own smile is wide and genuine, and it makes him feel warm inside like he hasn’t for so long, trapped in this godforsaken wasteland.

 

He picks himself up and helps Abaddon to her feet.  They wash up and clean out their wounds before going over to the bed where Dean drops down and yawns widely.  Abaddon starts to settle at the far edge of the bed, but Dean sighs and scrubs a hand over his face before saying her name softly, “Abaddon.”  She looks over immediately, and he shrugs one shoulder.  “Come here?” he says it almost like a question, and she smiles at the uncertainty of it.

 

She crawls over, waiting for him to lie down before she settles next to him, and they’re separate only for a few moments before Dean draws her close and kisses her mess of red hair.  “My human,” she says quietly, and he closes his eyes.

_My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in._

_You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to howl_

 

They do this thing for nearly twenty years.

 

They live in peace in the cave, rarely coming out other than the one time, after fifteen years, that Abaddon convinces her human to meet Lucifer, to sit down with him and talk, to discuss the future, and to understand.  When he returns to her, Abaddon can see it all in his face, and she pulls him to her and lets him sob, lets his knees give out from under him, and lets him shatter apart until he’s a shaking mess.  That is the not the first time they make love, but it’s one of the most passionate.

 

Abaddon tells him she loves him after seven years, both because she likes the number seven and because she believes it.  He just stares at her in response, and she knows he’ll never say it in return, but that is the only time she says it until year nineteen, and she whispers it to him when he’s half asleep, and he smiles.

 

They live in peace, but they are also a human and a demon.  They fight almost as much as they fuck, and Abaddon has taught him so much that he can hurt her now, and he does, striking out at her for every wound she gives him.  They draw blood and leaves bruises and welts and tear each other apart until they are ugly messes, left to lick themselves clean and start afresh.  More times than she cares to admit, he has to fight not with her but against the other demons of Hell, minions of Alastair, always seeking him out, and three times he nearly dies and the way he fights turns desperate and terrified, and she doesn’t let go of him for hours after.

 

He trusts her almost entirely for nearly twenty years, and then he’s taken from her.

 

They are asleep when it happens, and, when she wakes, he is gone, and she knows the moment she goes to Lucifer where he has been taken, but Lucifer only draws her into his arms and says the words she’s feared from the moment she put her human under her protection, “He is no longer yours, my child.”  She explodes with fury, lashing out at him until Lucifer’s great black wings flare out and then close around them, drowning her in dark heat.  “It will be okay,” he promises, and he waits until she calms before he pulls his wings back.  She doesn’t sleep in her cave for ten years.

 

And then, forty years since her human was brought into Hell, forty years since a garrison of angels began their assault into Hell, she hears his cry for a second time.

 

She is far from the cage and her cave, though she can see both, and she is sitting on the fiery ground, her black gown pooling around her, when she hears the sound of his voice, shattering through all of Hell, loud and clear and agonizing, “ _Abaddon_!”

 

She rushes to him, following the pulsing of his soul until she sees him, struggling to gain his footing as a white light grows brighter and brighter around him.  “No!” she screams, reaching for him, and he looks up at her voice, green eyes wide and terrified for a brief second before he recognizes her, and his face transforms, his mouth turning up in a soft smile.

 

A hand comes through the white light, and he holds up his own, begging for her to stop.  She is so close to him, and she stretches her arm out, fingertips brushing his lightly.  The hand closes tightly over his shoulder, and she sobs as he’s jerked backward.

 

“Dean,” he says, and then he’s gone, and all of Hell hears her sorrow.

_Now there’s no holding back,_

_I’m making to attack_

 

When Dean awakens in his wooden coffin, it’s with a shattered gasp, her name still on his tongue, “ _Abaddon_.”  It’s broken and hoarse, and he squeezes his eyes shut again, wishes for the first time in his life to be in Hell, wishes to be back with her, to hold her close to him, but then the lack of oxygen starts to make his head pound, and he digs deep for his strength.

 

His throat is raw and aching when he surfaces into the land of the living and drags himself out of his grave.  Things pass by in a blurry haze after that—he finds Bobby, they find Sam, they meet the woman that tells him about Castiel, he scratches absentmindedly at the scar on his shoulder, and then, on his second night, when he’s still avoiding sleep, he showers for the fourth time in two days because he still feels like Hell is all over him, and he notices that none of her marks are etched into his skin anymore.

 

Dean panics, losing his footing, his back slamming against the shower wall, and he sinks down against it, hot water spraying all over him as he presses his fingers against all the spots she touched him.

 

His thigh, no curling scar from where she pressed a knife, hissing that she wanted to see how long it would take him to bleed out after he’d thrown the largest boulder he could lift at her because she’d brought him a demon and asked if he wanted to learn the art of torture.

 

His torso, no autopsy mark from when she’d pinned him to the cave floor and tied him down, dragging her nails across his chest and whispering how she wanted to see what he was made of, and when she was done exploring, listening to his screams shatter through the cave, after she’d kissed his skin back together, blood dripping down her chin and staining her neck, he’d broken one of his bindings, snapped her arm back, and torn her apart, reaching inside of her and feeling for her black heart.

 

His back, where she’d woken him in a wild shout of pain because she’d been making constellations with a long, thick needle, connecting his freckles—the needle had ended up through her ankle.

 

His left arm—and her right—where she’d won three times with o’s, and he’d won twice with x’s, because they were bored and it was year eighteen, and he’d stopped refusing he didn’t love how fucked up they were.

 

His shoulders, no lines of five from her nails, dragging across until his skin was soaked in dark red, and the one time he’d done the same, ten curving lines up her back, she’d broken his jaw on accident, fingers pressing too hard against his face in pleasure.

 

His chest, where she’d carved her name and begged him to carve his on her, and he’d just kissed her there instead.

 

It’s Sam that finds him like this, curled in on himself, the water gone cold, shivering and shaking, his face pressed into his knees.  His brother hauls him out of the shower, turns off the water, and drapes a towel around him.  He rubs him dry and herds him into their room, forces him to change into dry clothes, and then he lays down with him, curling around Dean and tangling their limbs together.  He whispers nonsense until Dean drifts off, safe in the circle of Sam’s arms.

 

He’s okay until the nightmares start.

 

At first, he sees only blackness, and then the red starts to creep in until he recognizes the familiar backdrop of Hell.  He twitches everytime Alastair’s blade comes down on him, everytime he is so close to death he can almost feel his last breath rattling in his chest, but it’s not until he sees her that it hurts.  He sees her as she never was, or maybe as she is now, strapped to a rack and whipped, chained, beaten until she is barely a woman anymore, her black fury twisting her into something ugly and dangerous.

 

He doesn’t know when he starts screaming, but suddenly he’s being shaken awake, and his voice cracks in half and dies when he sees Sam’s face.  There’s fear in Sam’s eyes, and Dean can’t do this to him, can’t break him the way he’s been broken, and so he bottles it up and lets Sam play mom for a few minutes before he pushes him away and slips out of bed, going into the bathroom.

 

Dean splashes water on his face before he washes his hand, still feeling dirty and bloody, and it’s then that he notices it, the tiny curve of a scar on his index finger of his right hand, the one she’d reached out to, the last touch he’d had of her.  He has this one piece of her, and he rubs his thumb over it, smiling.

 

_My blood is singing with your voice,_

_I want to pour it out._

 

Abaddon finds the scar two weeks after Dean’s return to Earth.  She is a mess, crouched among a pile of rotting demons, humans in varying states of decay, her naked body caked in muck and blood and demon smoke, her long red hair tangled and wild, until she is barely a woman anymore, her form twisted and ugly like a demon.

 

The index finger of her left hand twitches suddenly, a burst of energy rocketing through it, and she spits the demon from her mouth, blood spilling down her jaw.  She lifts the finger and sees it, the half moon scar, and she touches it with her thumb, the smallest of smiles gracing her mouth before she closes her eyes, and she sees him as clearly as though he is there in front of her.

 

When Abaddon opens her eyes again, she stands and kicks at one of the dying humans that is scraping at her leg, tearing skin and muscle, and she makes her way slowly back through the common circles of Hell to the pit.

 

As she approaches the cage, Lucifer looks up and frowns.  “You are disgusting,” he says, and she stops outside the cage, reaching one hand forward to curl around one of the bars.

 

“Daddy,” she says softly, and he sighs, standing from his bed, one of the many in the cage, and comes over to her, holding out a hand.  She accepts it, letting him draw her inside, and he takes her away from Hell’s glaring eye, deeper into his cage, until he leaves her in her room.

 

Abaddon bathes and dresses, all the while singing softly to herself a song that he sometimes sang, thinking of the mother he spoke so fondly of, the father he spoke so reverently of, the brother he longed constantly to be back with, who he spoke so lovingly of, and it makes her smile.

 

When she is dressed, she turns to a broken slab of mirror and admires herself as she has not done in so long.  Her hair is longer than she remembers it, big, loose curls that she wants to tease and make wild.  It is vibrant again, too, not stained by the stink of Hell anymore.  Her black gown swims around her, clutching at her, and she drags her fingers over it, lifting them to admire her red nails before she turns her left hand and smiles at the scar.

 

Content, Abaddon goes to find Lucifer, and she ends up in his library.  He turns when she enters, a book in hand.  “This is where you’ll begin,” he says, and she takes the book, looking down at the golden words etched across the front: _Men of Letters_.

 

_The saints can’t help me now._

_The ropes have been unbound._

 

They start hunting again even though Sam whines at Dean and tries to give him a list of examples of why he’s not ready, why it’s too soon after Hell.  Dean shuts him up by saying, “Did _you_ know the woman I found you with the other day was a demon?”  Sam gapes at him, and Dean sighs.  “Sammy, I’m so tired.  I don’t want to lie to each other anymore.  I don’t _care_ if you’re sleeping with a demon, as long as she doesn’t try to kill us.”

 

“ _Really_?” Sam splutters, and Dean just gets behind the wheel of the Impala and clicks on the radio.

 

He lets his head drop back against the seat, eyes closing, and he can see her so clearly.  _“Look what I found!”_ her voice rings through his mind, and he’s brought back to their fifth year.  He had been lounging in bed reading Dante because he thought it was ironic, and she’d come running in, a wide, childlike grin spreading her lovely red lips.  She went out sometimes for what she called supply runs, and while she did occasionally return with books and even food, there were times when she returned caked in blood and licking demon off her fingers.  Their fights about demon hunting were the worst, but Dean couldn’t remember a single ugly word between them when he looked up and saw the turntable in her arms.  That day, they danced and sang to Styx, they fucked to AC/DC, and they slept to Led Zeppelin.  It had been one of her best presents, and they used it often.  Dean loved to watch Abaddon dance, loved to dance with her.

 

The car door brings him back, and he opens his eyes, sighing.  His whole body aches, deep beneath the surface, and he realizes, with sudden clarity, that he fell in love with a demon.

 

——

 

Of course, the first hunt they have is a demon.

 

They find him easily enough, following his messy, unorganized trail.  When they strap him down and Sam steps up, ready to exorcise, Dean reaches for him and says, “Gimme a second, okay?”

 

Sam nods after a moment and leaves into the next room.  Dean unsheathes his machete, leans into the demon’s face, and says, through gritted teeth, “How do I summon Abaddon?”

 

“ _Summon_ a Knight of Hell?  You’d have better luck summoning a hellhound.”

 

“Where is she?”

 

“Big bad sent her on a mission.  No one’s seen her in weeks.”

 

“ _Where_?” Dean demands, pressing the machete against its gut.

 

The demon cocks its head, black eyes narrowing, and then it grins.  “The Knight.”  Dean frowns, and the demon laughs.  “Many call Abaddon the Queen of Hell.  Many now call you her Knight, Dean Winchester.”

 

Dean lets the machete slide over the top of its thigh, soaked in holy water, and, as the demon screams, he reaches inside the wound, the scar on his finger throbbing until he feels smoke, and he yanks it out, a small sliver of blackness that shudders and dies.  Sam runs into the room as Dean exhales life back into it.  “Find Abaddon,” he whispers before he steps out of the devil’s trap and releases it.

 

Sam starts chanting quickly, and it’s only when he’s finished exorcising that he turns to Dean and explodes, “What the fuck is wrong with you?  What did you _do_?”  Dean starts to turn away, but Sam grabs his arm and says, “Who is _Abaddon_?”

 

Dean breaks a little, her voice in his head saying her name for the first time.  Seven years had passed before she woke him one morning, red mouth tight around his dick, pulling him from his slumber with a groan, red hair spilling around her, and she’d brought him so close to the edge, tongue curling as she sucked, her teeth scraping lightly before she pulled off and grinned, lowering one knee on the other side of him and then sinking down onto him, leaning down to kiss him breathless before she stilled and whispered against his mouth, _“I love you, human.”_

“Dean,” Sam’s voice brings him back, and Dean pulls out of his grip, suddenly feeling suffocated.  He rushes to get out of the house, gasping in the fresh air when he stumbles outside, and he turns his face upward, closing his eyes.

 

Sam finds him like this, and he steps around his brother, going over to the Impala and popping the trunk.  Dean watches him for a few moments before following him, and he dumps into the driver’s seat, his hands shaking a little.  Sam appears next to him with a rag for him to wipe his hand, and they don’t talk for the first ten minutes.

 

“Alright,” Sam says finally, tucking his stupid smartphone away in his pocket, “So Abaddon’s a demon.”

 

“A Knight of Hell,” Dean corrects him.

 

“And that’s why you’re okay with Ruby because you’ve been fucking a _Knight of Hell_ , because that’s so much better than just a lowly demon.  _Really_ , Dean?”

 

“Sam, I can’t—I can’t explain it,” he says, trying to swallow and finding it difficult.

 

All he can see is her disheveled hair, curls flying out around her as the hand tightens on his shoulder.

 

“Did you meet her in Hell?  What, did she offer you a hand off the rack and teach you how to torture?  Is that what you keep having nightmares about?  Did she force herself on you?”

 

“Sam,” Dean says, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

 

All he can see is the way the tears fall down her beautiful face, her red mouth open in disbelief, her human grey eyes shattering as he’s pulled away from her again.

 

“It’s not okay, Dean, and I know that makes me sound like a hypocrite, but this is such _shit_ , man.  Ruby is totally different that a _Knight of Hell_ , it’s not even comparable.  She fucking tricked you, man—she deceived you into letting her in, and she’ll ruin everything if you let her back.  I read about her, and it will destroy us, Dean.”

 

All he can hear is her voice, hoarse and wrecked.  All he can feel is her reaching for him, her nail scraping along his finger as they’re torn apart, as he says his name, finally, the only thing he has left to give to her, and the last sound he remembers is her broken sob.

 

Dean pulls over sharply, tires screeching over asphalt before they spray dirt, and he’s barely got the Impala in park before he tumbles out of the car, throwing open the door and trying to pull in night air, but he can’t breathe without her, and he sags backward against the Impala, sinking down and burying his face in his knees, hands coming up to grip the back of his head and pull at his hair.

 

Sam bursts out after him, running around the back end to crash to his knees beside Dean, reaching for him, but Dean flinches away, shaking his head.  “Don’t,” he manages, shrinking away from his brother, “Just—don’t.”

 

And so Sam sits there in silence with him, eventually shifting so he’s sitting against the Impala, as well, and the night is old when Dean finally straightens, takes a deep breath, and says, “She saved me.”

 

“What?” Sam says, turning to look at him sharply.

 

“She saved me from the rack, Sammy.  I was there for ten fucking years, being tortured under Alastair’s hand, every possible thing you could imagine, and she came to him one day and said that Lucifer had given her permission to save me.  She took me from the rack, and she led me to this cave where she lived, and then she left.  She said that she would not hunt me if I left, and if I didn’t, she would only approach me when I allowed it.  She said that I was under her protection, and that no demon would ever harm me while in her care.  She said that Lucifer had forbid it and given us his blessing.  She _saved_ me, Sammy, and I fell in love with her.  I didn’t—I didn’t see a demon or a Knight of Hell when I looked at her, just a woman, just— _Abaddon_.  I never could understand it, why I saw a human body instead of the twisted, ugly messes that demons are, and I stopped trying to because it didn’t matter as long as she was there with me, and then—and then Alastair came, in the middle of the night, _twenty years_ after she’d saved me from him, and I didn’t see her again until the day Cas came down from Heaven and took me from Hell.  I can’t—I can’t look at myself anymore and see smooth skin because she’s not there anymore, and it’s like she never existed, and all I have is this stupid fucking scar on my finger, it’s the only thing left of her that I have, that and her name, and I have to find her, Sammy.  Her, and—and Lucifer, Sam, they’re not the enemy.”

 

Sam shakes his head in disbelief, and it’s a moment before he can speak.  “You’re telling me that the _devil_ is our friend?”

 

“I’m saying that I met him, I spoke with him, and I understand.  I’m saying that just because Abaddon is a demon means nothing.  Lucifer is an _angel_ , Sam, and just because a bunch of assholes made up the name the devil and Satan means nothing.  Trust me, I never thought I’d be saying any of this to you, but I spent twenty years with Abaddon in Hell and twenty years with Alastair, and I know who the good guys are.  She’s a fucked up bitch, she is, but she’s also the reason I’m alive.”

 

“So—everything we’ve ever thought is _wrong_?” Sam asks quietly, and Dean nods slowly.

 

“We can change this, Sam.  We can make it work.”

 

“What, the apocalypse?”

 

“I guess.”

 

Sam sighs and scrubs a hand over his face before getting up and holding out his hand.  Dean takes it, letting his little brother lift him to his feet.  “Tell me everything?” he asks, and Dean nods, so they get back into the Impala and start driving.

 

_I hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallowed ground_

 

Abaddon does not have to fight her way out of Hell, but she does have to fight her way out of the pit.  Hell has not seen fury such as hers since Lucifer fell, and he watches proudly as she tears apart those that guard the pit, a wild and terrifying being of beauty.

 

When she finally claws her way up into the Hell that most see, she is out of breath and weak, stumbling forward.  Her naked skin is torn to shreds, bruises and welts the size of many fists, discoloring her until she is a mottled mess of black and blue and yellow and purple; some places are ripped in pieces, layers hanging down and slapping against her, muscles opened raw for the world to see.  There is demon smoke smeared across her, tangled in her hair, which hangs limply around her, mingling with the blood that runs in rivulets across her dirty skin, both hers and the many that she has fought.  Her legs are caked in black and brown, the muck and stink of Hell clinging to her and spotting her footprints as she slowly walks.

 

When she finally comes upon the gates, she is exhausted, and Charon shakes his head at her.  “This is not the way,” he says, and Abaddon levels him with a glare that would destroy lesser demons.  “As you command, my lady,” he says with a bow, stepping aside to let her onto his boat.  He takes her across the river and leaves her on the other side, and she does not rest.

 

She climbs out of Hell, her whole body shaking as tears stream down her face, burning trails along her face and jaw and neck.  She is alit with hellfire the closer she comes to the surface of Hell, the closer she comes to leaving the home she has known for so long.  And when she finally emerges onto Earth, all she sees is blackness before the dizziness leaves her and she can open her eyes to the night sky, stars shimmering brightly above her.

 

Abaddon searches deep inside of her for a last well of strength, and she uses it to push to her feet and stagger away from the scorched circle of earth that has heralded her coming.  She comes to a street eventually, and she walks along it, keeping herself awake by muttering to herself all the things she has read about humans in Lucifer’s library.

 

Eventually, two bright beams of light come toward her, and she turns toward it, shielding her eyes and stumbling.  The truck pulls over some feet ahead of her, and a man jumps out of the driver’s seat, running around to stare at her.

 

“Are you okay?” he asks with some kind of accent she can’t identify.

 

She looks at him for a long moment before she lets tears well in her eyes, and she covers her body like she’s ashamed that she’s naked.  “They attacked me,” she says, letting a tremor run through her, “They ripped my clothes off, and they—they—” she breaks off into a sob, and the man runs over, shedding his jacket as he does.  He wraps it around her, and she looks up at him with a small smile.  “Thank you,” she murmurs.

 

He nods, rubbing her arm.  “Why don’t I take you into town?  We’ll get this sorted.”

 

“You would do that?” she asks, making her voice small and sweet.

 

“Of course.  Come on, now, you’ll catch a cold out here.”  He leads her toward his truck, and, when he helps her inside and closes the door behind her, she smirks wickedly, licking her lips before she shifts in the jacket, revealing just enough leg that he’ll be lusting after her no matter what she looks like.

 

They’re driving for only a few minutes before he looks over at her, offers her what she thinks is supposed to be a comforting smile, and it would be had it not been directed at the curve of her leg instead of her face, and asks, “You got a name, woman?”

 

She returns his smile, letting a tiny amount of seduction slip into it, and says, “Lucy.”

 

“Well, Lucy, name’s Derek.  Nice to meet you.”

 

“And you, Derek.  Thank you for picking me up.  I didn’t know if I’d ever make it back to town.”

 

“You from around here?”  She shakes her head, looking back down at her lap, letting her lower lip wobble a little.  He reaches out a hand, rubbing it over her knee.  “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you.”

 

They make their way into the small town, and Abaddon looks around curiously.  “Where are we?” she asks as he turns down a road with no streetlights.

 

“I’ll take you back to my place, get you some clothes from my sister, and then we’ll go over to the station in the morning, report what happened.  That okay with you, Lucy?”

 

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

 

“You aren’t.  I’m inviting you,” he says, smiling again, and this time, it’s directed at her face.  She bats her eyelashes and blushes, smiling as she looks down at her lap.  She starts to twist her fingers together, a staple of modesty, and the scar rubs over her skin, and she inhales sharply, unfolding her hands to look at it.

 

All she can see, suddenly, is the terror in his eyes as he’s jerked backward, away from her, torn from her, and he says his name before he’s gone, and a choked sob falls from her mouth before she can stop it.  She lifts her hand up, coming over her mouth, and she wills herself to remain calm, to hold the storm within, but then Derek rubs her knee again, and she shatters, hunched against the car door, pulling away from him, squeezing her eyes shut, always human for him, and cries quietly.

 

The car comes to a stop, and Derek kills the engine and turns to her.  “You alright, Lucy?”

 

She forces the tears away, wipes at her face with her dirty wrists, and nods, quickly pushing open the car door and climbing out of the truck.  Derek runs around to help her, and she leans into him, letting herself believe in the role of the victim for the short walk to the house, letting her fury and sorrow well up until she feels like she might implode, rip apart and scream herself bloody.

 

When they reach the house, she has control of herself again, and she banishes everything but the character she’s playing.  Derek helps her into the house and leads her upstairs to a small bathroom, where he turns on the shower and nods to her before leaving.  She sheds his jacket quickly, gagging at the scent of him that wafts around the small bathroom.  She kicks it outside the door and climbs into the shower, letting the hot water run over her.  She watches the grime of Hell wash down the drain, and though she wishes she could just relax and sink into a bath, she has work to do, and she scrubs herself clean.

 

Abaddon shuts off the water when she’s finished and wraps a towel around her, letting her wet hair fan out over her shoulder.  She makes her way down the hall to where an open door resides, and Derek is busy bustling in the closet.

 

“Derek?” she asks sweetly, and he comes barreling backward out of the closet, grinning as he holds up a small dress.

 

“This was all I could find,” he lies, and Abaddon lets her smile slip into a grin that makes his disappear.  She untucks the towel and lets it slither to the floor, displaying herself as she tips her chin upward.

 

“I’m sure I won’t need it just yet,” she says, her voice low, vibrating through her, and Derek lets his eyes rake over her appreciatively.

 

“They attacked you, huh?” he echoes her earlier words, staring at her breasts, and Abaddon sighs, ghosting a hand up over her side and coming to cup around one of her breasts, thumb flicking up to tease at her nipple.  Her other hand she lets drift down between her legs, curling around and hiding what he wants most.

 

“Do you want to talk, Derek, or do you want a free fuck?”

 

He’s out of his pants so fast it makes Abaddon roll her eyes.  He yanks off his jacket and his shirt, and she has to swallow down her disgust at him.  She thinks of Dean and his beautiful freckled skin, his strong muscles, and his pouty lips, and she closes her eyes when Derek grabs at her, thick hands sliding over her.  He slaps her hand away and fingers roughly at her pussy, slipping down to push inside her, his other hand coming up to squeeze tightly over her breast.

 

Abaddon shoves him, hands slapping against his shoulders until he tumbles to the ground, and she follows, dropping to her knees and straddling him, taking him inside of her and leaning down to mouth at his neck, distracting him.  His hands slap against her ass, squeezing and lifting her, and she growls before she bites, teeth sinking in.

 

“Easy, bitch!” he yelps, trying to pull her away, but she tears at him, hands coming out to curl around his forearms and _squeeze_ until she feels bone snap, and he screams, thrashing.  She rips back from his neck, blood squirting across the grimy floor as flesh and muscle hang from her mouth.  She eats it slowly, drawing it in and swallowing it before she leans back down, lapping up his blood, taking his life into her.  She continues to squeeze his forearms until her fingers meet, biting through skin, muscle, and bone, and she pulls her hands sharply back, coming up with chunks of him.

 

When she is finished, she is covered in him, and the rank smell of him fills the dead air.  She stands, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and she stares down at him disgust.  “You’re almost not worth it,” she says before she spits and goes back down the hall to wash herself again.

 

She returns to the room when she’s clean once more, and she walks over him, foot pressing down into his ribcage and grinning as it snaps beneath her weight.  Inside the closet is an array of clothes, and she laughs shortly, shaking her head.  “A _dress_ , really.  Too obvious, asshole.”

 

Abaddon picks through until she finds a pair of tight red jeans, and she tosses those out of the closet and toward the bed.  She finds a fitted, long sleeve, black shirt with a scoop neck, and she throws that toward the bed, as well.  She goes out to rifle through the dresser, making a mess as she searches for something pretty enough, and she smirks when she lifts a pair of lace black panties from the top drawer.  “Oh, we could have been friends if your brother wasn’t such a loser, honey,” she says to herself before shimmying into them.  There’s a bra to match, and she clips that on before going to tug on the bright red jeans and the black shirt.  She goes back into the closet in search of shoes, which end up being heeled, black boots that she laces up, and a jacket, which ends up being both a thin, dark grey jacket with a deep hood, and a black, leather jacket over that.

 

Once she’s satisfied, Abaddon goes downstairs and raids Derek’s kitchen, eating whatever she can find before she hunts around for a newspaper which shows her the date: 2013.  She remembers Lucifer’s words, mapping out Dean’s life, and she sighs before reaching for the nearest cabinet and yanking it open.  Abaddon shrugs when she finds an opened container of jelly, smashes it against the counter, and dips her fingers in it.  She creates a portal to Purgatory on the kitchen floor, wipes her fingers on a dish towel as it opens, and steps inside.  It closes behind her as headlights pull up in the driveway.

 

Abaddon is ambushed the moment she steps into Purgatory, but she just lets out a mighty roar and punches through the nearest monster, lifting it off its feet and sending it flying, and the others back off warily.  Someone laughs, and Abaddon turns, meeting his gaze.  “What is your name?” she asks, and he shrugs one shoulder, and it reminds her so clearly of Dean that she smiles softly.  “Good enough,” she says, “May I have a word?”

 

And that is how she meets Benny and tells him of the soul that will be trapped here, of the man he must find and protect, and she swears him peace instead of Purgatory, cutting open her palm with one her nails, a blood pact that binds them.

 

“Where will you go now?” Benny asks as he wipes his hand on his jacket.

 

“Kansas, 1958,” she says, also wiping her hand on Benny’s jacket, “And you?”

 

“Waiting for Dean Winchester, it seems.  What’s he mean to you anyway?”

 

“I love him,” she says simply, turning away.

 

Benny stops her, “Love him, huh?  He one of your demons?  I thought they went to Hell when they died.”

 

“Not a demon,” Abaddon says, shrugging one shoulder, “A human.  We met in Hell.”

 

Benny laughs, and Abaddon uses the gift Lucifer gave her, the way back to Earth, a small black rock that explodes when she steps on it, and she’s gone.

_Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins._

_I want to find you, tear our all your tenderness._

Dean’s at a low, _low_ point when he eases Anna into the back of the Impala, plunges them into semi-darkness so that all he can see is her red hair, splayed out along the leather.  When she lays a hand on Cas’ handprint, he sighs.  When she tries to tangle their fingers together, he flinches back, shaking his head.  “Don’t,” is all he says before he kisses her silent and tries to pretend it’s _her_ , but Anna’s lips are too thin, her mouth too small.  Her body moves easily beneath him, doesn’t fight back or wrap around him until all he can feel is her.  And when she whispers his name, he feels like he’s suffocating, and he quickens his pace, thrusts into her until she climaxes, and then begs for his own, willing his body to just let him be free of this, be free of everything.

 

His orgasm is weak and unsatisfying, but Anna doesn’t notice as they part.  She’s beaming up at him, whispering something about how she’s glad she spent her last night on Earth with him, but all he can hear is Abaddon’s voice, the way it had pitched higher and higher, a moan building into a keen when he would fuse them together and bring them over the edge.  He misses her sounds so much it makes his chest ache.

 

Dean pushes out of the Impala so he can yank on his jeans, pull his shirt over his head, and press his fist against his mouth, trying to swallow it all down.  Anna climbs out after him, dresses, and stands in front of him, frowning.  “Are you okay?” she asks, finally noticing.

 

He drops his fist and nods.  “Yeah,” he says with a forced smile, “You?”

 

She shrugs one shoulder.  “Gonna die tomorrow,” she says, and he wants to shake her.  He would welcome death right now, if it meant he’d be sent back to Hell, back to Abaddon.

 

Anna finally gets the hint that he’s not in the mood to talk and goes off to take a walk.  He shoots Sam a text, _sleeping in the Impala, need to clear my head_ , before he gets behind the wheel and drives until he’s yawning, and then he pulls down some abandoned road, climbs into the back, and passes out.

 

He dreams about Abaddon.

 

He dreams about their eleventh year, when he’d woken up because Abaddon was making these soft, breathy little noises, her bare ass pressed up against his groin, and he’s painfully hard just from the sight of her, the long curve of her body, the soft swell of her breasts.  He slides out from behind her and carefully coaxes her onto her back, moving to hover above her so he can lay a trail of wet kisses down her front, from collarbone to navel, nibbling lightly at her more sensitive spots until she’s moaning softly in her sleep, and then parts her folds with his tongue, and she wakes with a gasp, fingers curling in silk.

 

“Naughty,” she purrs, and Dean smirks before sucking her clit _hard_ , enough to make her groan and reach her other hand up to fist tightly in his short hair.  She sighs, “ _Human_ ,” and it makes him chuckle softly, mouth vibrating against her, and Abaddon’s hips lift off the bed toward him.

 

He curls his left hand around her hip and shoves her back down against the bed while he rubs his right over her thigh, moving inward until he’s tracing around her pussy, light, fluttering touches that make her whine.

 

“Fucking tease,” she finally growls out, slapping the side of his head with her open palm.  He pulls away from her and bites her stomach, hard enough to draw blood, and she shouts in surprise before grinning down at him.  “Are you finally learning, human?”

 

When he smirks up at her, it’s a red grin.  “Pretty sure you just smacked me cos I wouldn’t get you off quick enough.  Easy does it, _demon_.”

 

She glares at him, a sharp, feral thing, but he just leans down to kiss over her bleeding bruise, kisses down over her hip and back to her wet, warm pussy, kisses her clit as he rubs the pads of his fingers against her entrance, and Abaddon just sighs in frustration.  Dean laughs out loud this time, leaning his face into her thigh, and he can feel her laugh, as well.

 

“I love you,” she says softly, and Dean kisses the inside of her thigh.

 

“I know,” he says in return before moving back between her legs, and then her breath is hitching up toward a high whine, his fingers twisting inside of her, and Dean wakes in the back of the Impala with a groan, wanting to roll over on the floor but knowing he’ll regret it.

 

He slaps a hand over his eyes, willing his body to just calm the fuck down because his jeans are unbelievably tight right now, and he doesn’t _want_ to jerk off, but there’s no way he’s getting back to sleep like this.

 

He remembers how Abaddon would tug so sharply at his hair when he ate her out, how her voice would drop from a high, whining keen to a low, dangerous moan in a second, how her thighs would tremble against his shoulders, and Dean swears, reaching down to cup the bulge in his jeans and squeeze.

 

She’d always been so vocal, and not even just noise, but demanding things, sometimes even just asking, and her dirty talk put Dean to shame on more than one occasion.  Some of his favorite times was when she was sarcastic, though, and he’d just end up laughing so hard they had to stop, and Abaddon would laugh after trying so hard not to, and Dean had never been so happy with someone before like he was with her.

 

He’s exhausted, though, and there’s just so much shit going on that he yanks open his jeans, pulls up his shirt, and closes his eyes, seeing only her, hearing only her, his fingers tightened around his cock, jerking in quick, short pulls until he’s groaning and coming over his stomach, so much better than it had been with Anna.

 

When Dean falls asleep again, it’s to the sound of Abaddon’s soft laugh before she drifts off with him.

 

——

 

The day after he and Sam go separate ways, the day Dean demands he and Cas take the Impala instead of angel express, he’s showing Cas what _good_ music is, and they’re partway through a Ted Nugent marathon when Cas turns down the volume and says, “Dean, we need to talk.”

 

“Okay,” Dean says slowly, glancing over at him, “Everything good, man?”

 

“No,” Cas says bluntly, “Who is Abaddon?”

 

Dean takes it in stride, though his chest tightens at her name.  He’s been doing so good, bottling those memories up and looking at them only in the dead of night.  Dean dreams of her almost every night, sometimes waking up crying, sometimes smiling, sometimes with a raging hard-on, sometimes with his body aching from the swelling missing of her.  She’s left him empty inside, but he’s this way now because _Castiel_ tore them apart.

 

Dean takes a steadying breath and says, “She’s no one.”  It makes his chest hurt to put her so low, and he reaches up a hand to rub over his sternum.

 

“Dean, I know what she looks like from your dreams.  I know her voice, her name, the things you did.  I know—”

 

“You know _nothing_ ,” Dean snaps furiously.  His knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

 

“I have seen—”

 

“ _You took me from her_!” Dean erupts.

 

They sit in silence for a full five minutes before Cas says, “She’s a demon.  You met in Hell.  Dean, I—”

 

“Listen, I am eternally grateful to you for saving me from Hell, but I’ve been trying so hard not to hate you for it, too, and if you get all righteous man on me, I’ll fucking kick your ass straight back to Heaven.”

 

“Dean, you _are_ the righteous man.  You cannot let some filthy demon deter you from the true path.  God—” Cas stops abruptly as the Impala screeches to a stop.

 

Dean directs her over to the shoulder, gets out and slams the door behind him, and starts walking across the road.  Cas hurries to follow, calling after him, “ _Dean_!”

 

Dena whips around on the yellow line and starts screaming, “I am falling apart without her, Cas!  She is the love of my life!  _No one_ will ever be what she is to me, and yet, you have the nerve to call her a _filthy demon_ , but if you know so much, if you’ve seen so much in my head, you should already know that!  I spent _twenty years_ of my life with her, and never once in that time did I see the _filth_ of her _demon_ nature!  Never once did she lay hands on me with the intention to harm!  Never once did she give me reasons to despise her as I do her kind!  I will never—” his voice cracks, and he looks away briefly.  “I will never stop loving her,” he says finally before he stalks back across the road and jerks the Impala’s door open.  “Get in, and shut up,” he growls before climbing in.

 

Cas obeys, and when he opens his mouth, Dean punches him and doesn’t feel the usual hurt that accompanies hitting angels.  “Dean,” Cas sighs.

 

“I will blow your fucking brains out.”  Cas doesn’t respond.

 

That night, when he goes to sleep, he dreams of being taken from Hell, Cas’ hand curled tightly over his shoulder, Abaddon sobbing openly, and he wakes screaming.

 

——

 

Dean can’t stand most angels, but he hates Zachariah more than all of them put together.  He wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for that better-than-the-world attitude that reminds Dean so strongly of Alastair.  He can still see his smirk when he wakes up in 2014.

 

It’s a trip seeing a future version of himself, seeing Cas as a hippie junkie human, _not_ seeing Sam, but then he gets alone with future Dean, and he asks the question that’s been burning at the back of his mind since he started looking around, “Dude, where’s Abaddon?”

 

Future Dean frowns deeply at him.  “That demon bitch Sammy and I ganked in the bunker forever ago?  She was one tough whore, but we managed.”

 

Dean shakes his head quickly, eyes wide.  “But—what about Hell?  What about everything I had with her?  Does that mean _nothing_ to you?”

 

“To us, bucko, we’re the same person.  And the fuck are you talking about?  We spent Hell with Alastair, remember?  Got tortured for thirty, went off the rack and tortured under Alastair for ten.  We—”

 

“No!” Dean roars, slamming one of the chairs with his open palm so that it goes skidding backward, “We spent ten years being tortured with Alastair, and then Abaddon came and took us down from the rack and we spent twenty fucking years with her!  We _love_ her!”

 

“ _Dean_ ,” future Dean snaps, “What the fuck is going on with you?  I know Zachariah brought you here, but did he do some mind mojo on you or something?”

 

“I’m not crazy!” Dean exclaims, lifting his right hand, fingers curled but for his index finger, which stands straight up.  “This is her!  This is the only thing I have left of her, and I will not let some shithead future version of _myself_ take it from me, not after everything!”

 

Future Dean gives him this look that makes Dean’s stomach turn over, eyebrows raised and eyes shifting away.  “There’s nothing there, man.”

 

Dean blinks and turns his hand, looking at his finger, which is smooth and unscarred.  “But, there was—it was—it’s not there.”  He stumbles and falls into one of the chairs, staring at his hand.  He tries to think back to their last moments, but it’s just a blur of white light and Cas’ hand on his shoulder.

 

“Why don’t you get some rest, Dean, figure shit out and we’ll head out tomorrow as planned.”

 

Future Dean leaves him staring at his finger.

 

——

 

When he’s in the car the next day with human Cas, he tries to ask him about his demon, but he can’t remember her name, though he can see her face clearly.  He tries to explain to Cas the woman he can see in his head, but Cas just stares at him strangely.

 

After he’s watched his brother destroy his future self, he grabs at him and says, “Lucifer, I can’t remember her.”

 

His mouth moves, and his lips form a name, but Dean can’t hear it.  Lucifer’s frown deepens, and he says, “This is Zachariah’s doing.  Dean, do you mean my daughter?”

 

“The demon, yes,” Dean says desperately, “Who is she?” he pauses, unsure if he should ask his next question because he doesn’t understand why it means anything to him, but Lucifer nods for him to go on, and so he says, “Where is she?”

 

“She will find you in due time, Dean, but you must remember her.  She—”

 

Dean jerks backward, shoving Lucifer from him with wide eyes.  He lifts his gun and directs it toward the devil who wears his brother’s face and snaps nasty words at him, and, for some reason, Lucifer looks as though he might cry.  “Dean, you must find Abaddon,” he pleads.

 

“Who the fuck is Abaddon?” Dean growls at him as he backs away, and then he’s standing in his motel room in front of Zachariah.

 

“Who is she, Dean?” Zachariah asks.

 

“Who?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

_Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers._

_Starts to soft and sweet and turns them to hunters._

 

When Abaddon finally finds herself in 1958, she is tired and needs a vessel, so she finds adorable little Josie and sets up shop, biding her time until she is due to possess her.  Her first night in Kansas, she dreams that Dean is there with her, arms wrapped tightly around her, whispering kisses across her neck until they slow and then stop, his warm breath ghosting over her skin, his body pressed along hers.

 

_The fabric of your flesh, pure as a wedding dress._

_Until I wrap myself inside your arms, I cannot rest._

Dean meets Benny almost a full month after Cas has abandoned him.  After dancing around each other for a full two weeks, not really sure if they can trust each other, Benny finally gives in, bumps a fist against Dean’s shoulder, and sits down next to him during one of their breaks.

 

“So, listen man, your demon lover came by fuckin’ forever ago, and asked me to watch out for you?”

 

“What?” Dean says, looking at Benny like he’s got three heads.

 

“The redheaded one.  Real fuckin’ hot, but not really the way I go.  I’m not sayin’ you can trust me, but it’s not accident we’re together now.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dean says, wanting to shift away but not wanting to be too obvious.

 

Benny holds his gaze for a few moments before shrugging one shoulder.  “Whatever, friend, if that’s how you wanna play it.”

 

“ _We_ are not friends.”

 

“Okay, why don’t you tell me what your name is, then, _human_?”

 

For no reason he can understand, Dean’s chest tightens to the point of painful, and he reaches up a hand to rub the heel of his palm against his sternum.  He tries to respond, tries to snap back at him that he’s not trusting him with his name yet, but even the thought of that makes him short of breath, and Dean jerks to his feet, walking a few paces away and shaking his head.  He tips his head up and breathes in the cold, night air, trying to steady himself.

 

When he turns back to Benny, the vampire is watching him with a weird expression, but he just shrugs his shoulders when Dean turns and goes back to sharpening his knife.  Dean spends a second longer catching his breath before he goes to sit next to Benny.

 

——

 

Abaddon is dreaming of Dean.

 

She dreams about the time she taught him how to waltz, and later, to tango, and how easily he’d fallen into the steps and led her gracefully around the cave.  She dreams about the time she raided Lucifer’s library and came back with a stack of board games and demanded he show her how to play them.  She dreams about the time she’d whined at him to paint her nails because she wasn’t feeling well, and he’d actually done it, propping her foot up on his knee while he told her stories about him and Sam as little kids, and then, when she’d woken up the next morning with some kind of disgusting virus she’d caught from one of the other demons, he’d wrapped himself around her and stayed with her until she was better.

 

When she wakes, she can still feel him tangled around her, and she smiles as she stretches before looking around for what woke her.  There’s a small alarm going off, and Abaddon frowns at it before she realizes what it means, and she uncurls quickly from her perch and goes over to the small slab of glass she’s been using to watch Josie.

 

She’s walking quickly through the streets, making her way toward the Men of Letters headquarters, and Abaddon hurries to get ready, waiting for the perfect moment, hovering just beyond sight, until Josie is open and practically _begging_ for it, and Abaddon does what she loves most.  She swallows down her innocence, licking it from her teeth and sucking it off her fingers, grinning when Josie Sands is _gone_.

 

Henry Winchester bursts through the doorway, and she lets out a roaring scream, eyes flashing black and beautiful.  It is time for her to go back to her only home, her human, _her Dean_.

 

——

 

When Henry Winchester tumbles through their closet, Dean is just coming out of the shower, Sam is sitting on his bed, legs folded underneath him, researching on his laptop, and Lucifer is lounging next to him, reading _A Dance With Dragons_.

 

It had been one hell of a road with Lucifer, but Dean thinks things have finally settled with that chapter of their life.  They’d sought Lucifer out almost as soon as he started dream-walking with Sam, and they’d begun developing their plan until there was not a single flaw in it, even with Michael trying to ruin it at every turn.  When it finally came time to meet Michael on the battlefield, Lucifer hitched a ride in Sam’s body, beat Dean until he saw the army man flash in the sunlight, and then relinquished control to Sam.  They’d done something no one had ever thought possible, trusting each other so deeply, but then, no one had ever expected the chosen vessel to fall in love with the devil.  And then, after two weeks in Hell, God had rescued them from Hell and returned them to Earth, taking Michael back up to Heaven with him.  And now, wherever Sam went, Lucifer went, and though Dean couldn’t truly understand how this relationship had been formed, and how Sam had convinced him to trust _Satan_ , but, in the end, it had all worked out, and Dean figures he doesn’t need to question it anymore.

 

But, when Henry comes stumbling out of the closet, Lucifer is gone before Henry can realize he’s there, and Dean looks over at Sam with a frown, but Sam just shrugs and looks back at Henry.

 

They deal with that, and, when the room starts shaking, Dean wants to throw up his hands in exasperation.  Henry starts freaking out, the door slams open, and this gorgeous redhead walks out, blood staining her blue dress, and Dean frowns when his chest starts aching.

 

——

 

Abaddon swears that the air smells different.

 

When she used to leave the cave for Hell, the air would shift, getting darker and heavier, and she would long to be back in the cave, where it smelled of pine and leather and grease and _Dean_.  When she finally came into Kansas, she thought that maybe, because she was where he’d grown up, thinking of all the stories he’d told her—sometimes whispering at night until they were so tired they can barely form words, sometimes holding their sides as they laugh hysterically, sometimes while just being domestic or goofy—but it had just smelt like every other place on Earth that she’d been, and so, when she blasts the door back and steps into the motel room, when she inhales, eyes fluttering for the briefest moment, she knows he’s there.

 

He smells still like pine and leather and grease, but he also smells like hotel soap and linen and ocean, which she knows is Sam, but also a little bit of Lucifer, and it’s so _Dean_ that it makes her smile so wide her heart aches.

 

When she opens her eyes, she smiles widely, red lips stretching, and looks over at him.  Her breath catches at the sight of him, _finally_ , after so long, and he has aged so much since she last laid eyes on him, since she last held him tight, since she last felt the thrum of his heart.

 

Abaddon listens for it now, and her smiles falters when she finds it beating erratically, and not out of surprise and joy and love, but out of _fear_.

 

She rakes her eyes over him, understanding his offensive stance suddenly, and she turns her attention to Henry.  When Dean stabs her, she wants to scream that he should know better than to believe a demon blade could kill her, that she has taught him better, but his hand presses against her, and she falls to a knee.

 

They make their escape, and she unleashes her fury on the motel clerk.  With his blood sprayed across her face, she goes back into their motel room, not breathing until she has slammed and locked the door, curled up on Dean’s bed, and pulled his pillow close to her.  She hears the sound of wings, and she shatters, a heaving sob leaving her.

 

“Oh, my child,” Lucifer sighs, sitting next to her and reaching for one of her hands.

 

“I don’t understand, daddy.  Why doesn’t he know who I am?” she demands, looking up at him.

 

Lucifer coaxes her to sit, and he winds his arms around her to contain the oncoming storm when he says, “An angel, Zachariah, took his memories of you.  He is long dead.”

 

Abaddon doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move, for long, agonizing minutes until Lucifer says her name, and she collapses against him, her whole body shaking as she cries.  Lucifer just holds her tight, holds her together.

 

——

 

Dean shakes his hand, swearing.  Sam looks over at him with a frown.  “Does your finger still hurt?”

 

“Motherfucker, it’s bleeding.”

 

Sam grabs tissues from the glove compartment and hands one over.  Dean presses it against the index finger of his right hand.  “So, that was Abaddon?” Sam asks, looking back at Henry.

 

“She is a filthy _demon_ ,” Henry spits.

 

Dean has to swallow the urge to defend her, but it still comes out a little, “She is a Knight of Hell, not just some lowly _demon_.”

 

Sam glares at Henry through the rearview mirror when he starts to speak and then turns to Dena.  “How do you know that?” he asks, trying to keep his voice level.

 

“I don’t know,” Dean admits, pulling back the tissue, “Huh.”

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t remember having a scar there.”

 

He shows Sam his finger, and Sam has to refrain for calling out to Lucifer.  “Dean, she gave it to you.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Abaddon,” he says her name slowly, trying to let it sink in.

 

“Dude, she didn’t even touch me.”

 

Sam starts to snap, but Henry jumps in, “We don’t have time for this.  We need to keep the key safe from her.”

 

Dean grabs onto the new subject, and Sam tries not to sulk.

 

——

 

Abaddon leaves a messy, bloody trail as she seeks out her human, and, when she is finally in his presence again, she wants to sink her teeth in and rip his heart out.  She is barely attentive, thinking of only how his blood tastes, thinking of pressing her red mouth to the pulse in his neck and tearing the gorgeous, freckled skin right from his body, leaving his muscles raw and open to the world.

 

She watches him move, a predator stalking her prey, and she wants nothing more than to storm across the room and pounce on him, pin him to the hard, cold floor and drag her nails over his beating chest until he’s screaming her name.

 

And then she doesn’t see anything but blackness, but _oh_ , she can still _feel_.  She understands rather quickly what they’ve done, that they’ve beheaded her, and her head is already in a box ready to be buried, and that she’s been made immobile with a devil’s trap bullet, which is such a nifty little tool that she’s momentarily distracted by the brilliance of it until she can feel _his hands_.

 

They grip at her, one on her forearm and the other on her hand.  His fingers tangle around hers, and she almost misses the way he brushes his thumb over the back of her hand before he suddenly stops, thumb twitching away.  And then one of her hands is missing.

 

The other one goes, and then they’re sawing at her shoulder, ripping it from her.  They move to her feet next, and then there’s some hushed grumbling before Dean’s hands are _right there_ , one pressing against her hip and the other curling around her thigh.

 

Abaddon lets out this soft, slow moan, wishing desperately that she could see him, could see his hands instead of just feel them secondhand.  All of her fury from today, all of the blood she’d spilled while she was throwing her tantrum, none of it amounts to the feeling of his hands pressing tight against her, to the small glimmer of touch that reminds her so clearly of their time in Hell together, never far from one another.

 

“Dude, did you hear that?” Dean’s voice is louder than a whisper this time, and his fingers flex over her thigh as he speaks.

 

Abaddon doesn’t hear Sam’s response because pleasure is spiking through her, and she wants nothing more than to have him beneath her again, to slide him inside of her and bring them as close as she can.  She realizes, with sudden breathtaking clarity, that she wants to make love to him, not fuck him, and she would even settle for just being tangled in his arms, just in the same vicinity of him.

 

Abaddon loses touch with where his hands are, then, because her throat is tight and aching, and she has to bite her bottom lip to stop the sobs from sounding.  Her head shakes in its box, and she knows her shoulders must be, as well, and she just wants to be held by her Dean again.

 

——

 

Dean dreams of a bed of silk, of warm, sweet air, of the whisper of soft fingers across his skin, of the slow movement of a full mouth patterning his shoulder and jaw until they press against his lips.

 

He dreams of smiling and murmuring, with mock anger, “You asked me to sing to you.”

 

He dreams of a lovely voice laughing, the most beautiful laugh he has ever heard, before she says, “I was falling asleep.”

 

He dreams that he starts singing, eyes closing as he recalls his mother singing to him, a lullaby that always made him feel safe, and, when he stops, he turns his head and smiles.

 

He dreams of Abaddon, a soft smile pulling up the corners of her red mouth, her grey eyes closed in slumber, her breaths coming slow and warm against his chest, and he dreams that he kisses her temple and closes his own eyes, still turned toward her as he sleeps.

 

When he wakes, he can’t understand why he’s crying.

 

——

 

The first thing she feels is two strong hands holding her head gently, carefully tilting it, and then she’s inhaling and pulling away, black eyes flashing open.  Immediately, she knows whose hands they are, but her eyes won’t adjust right away, and she blinks a few times before she can see him clearly.

 

They go back and forth for a few brief seconds before she lets her gaze settle on him and says, “I can’t wait to tear out those pretty green eyes.”

 

Dean smirks, one corner of his mouth lifting up, and it’s such a familiar grin that she matches it.  When he speaks, his voice is easy and flirtatious, “Have at it, demon, they’re all yours.”

 

Abaddon snatches her chance and says, “Is that so, _human_?  Forget my name so quickly, have you?  Pity, I rather liked hearing it from those pouty lips.”

 

“Abaddon,” he says, shaking his head once, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip before he steps forward, and then he’s back to not knowing who she is, frowning and looking over at Sam, who looks such a mess of disbelief and hope that it only furthers Dean’s confusion.

 

“What the fuck?” Dean says softly, and Sam has to compose himself in half a second and shrug one shoulder.  He turns his gaze back to Abaddon, who is staring at Dean brokenly, and Dean looks at Sam a moment longer before looking to Abaddon, who turns away, refusing to meet his gaze.

 

She can’t stop the few tears that tumble down her cheeks, and she can hear Sam swear softly, too low for Dean to hear, and she has to hold her breath until she can gather her strength and turn back, banter with him like she’s a Knight of Hell and he’s a human, and they’ve never crossed paths other than through mutual hatred.

 

She doesn’t remember much of their conversation, and then they’re leaving to speak with Crowley—who she will be having quite a few violent words with—and she needs to be as far from him as possible, so she coaxes one of her hands out of a box and yanks the bullet from the roof of her mouth.

 

She’s just finishing reattaching her left hand when she admits that she can’t take much more of this, and she may just retire to Hell for good.

 

_The saints can’t help me now,_

_The ropes have been unbound._

The next time they meet, Dean unloads six devil’s trap bullets into her torso, and Abaddon laughs at him and lifts her black shirt to show off her new bulletproof vest.  He quickly stows that away and pulls out an angel blade, and she smirks, ready to do the dance they’ve done so many times, even if he doesn’t know who she is.

 

They move like long lost lovers, falling into a rhythm of familiarity so easily that it makes her grin, and she can see Dean responding to it, the corner of his mouth fighting to curl up.  Abaddon doesn’t want that, though, doesn’t want his reaction unless it’s genuine, unless he’ll remember who she is in the end, and so she grabs at him, jerks his arm backward and twists him so he crashes to his knees.

 

“I’ve missed you,” she purrs, petting a hand over his jaw, “Did you miss me?”

 

She drags a thumb over his bottom lip, and Dean lets a small smirk flicker over his face.  “We gonna fight or fuck, cos I’m getting some real mixed signals here.”

 

Abaddon laughs softly and says, “I’ve loved this body ever since I first saw it.  You’re the perfect vessel, Dean.  You give a girl all sorts of nasty ideas.  So go ahead and play hard to get, and I’ll peel off this _no demon’s allowed_ tattoo and blow smoke up your ass.  You and me, lover, we’ll have a grand old time.”

 

She jerks his arm tighter, grin turning feral as she hears bones snap in his shoulder, and she just wants to climb inside of him and rip him to shreds, tear him apart with her teeth from the inside out and rise from his mangled mess bloody and new.  She wants to _destroy_ him.

 

Dean lets out a shout when she breaks his shoulder, pain roaring through him, and his vision flashes red—hellfire in walls and flickering off still waters, tumbling curls ghosting over his face as lips press against his, blood freckling skin as he finds _home_ and _love_ —before he’s gasping for breath, and his voice comes out hoarse, “ _Abaddon_.”

 

She growls, too furious to form coherent words, and her right hand comes around to backhand him, hand meeting face so hard his head swings to the side and his nose crunches.  He only grunts this time, blood streaming down his face.

 

When he pulls his head back around, Abaddon’s eyes are wide and black and terrifying, and she lifts a hand to strike him again, but Dean throws up his left hand, nails scraping against her throat as he catches her, and he unbalances them, throwing them over until he slams her down, head smacking against the ground.

 

“ _ABADDON_!” he screams, his voice cracking at the end, and he can’t hold it back anymore, not when her eyes flicker back to grey immediately and she stares at him.  He shakes his head once, tears spilling out of his eyes, and he tries to say he’s sorry, but he can’t get the words out, and so he kisses her.

 

She starts to kiss back even as her hand comes up to tighten in his hair, and she jerks his head back, staring up at him, wide-eyed and afraid.  “Human?” she asks softly.

 

He chokes on a laugh and nods as he says, “Abaddon.”

 

“Dean,” she says on an exhale, grabbing for him.

 

She pulls them back together, and Dean kisses her with everything he’s got until he tries to move his right hand, and he breaks away with a groan, squeezing his eyes shut.  Abaddon laughs softly, and Dean opens his eyes to glare at her, though he’s smiling.  “Just like old times,” he says, and she laughs louder, biting at her lip.

 

“I love you,” she whispers.

 

Dean leans down to kiss her softly, slowly.  “I love you more,” he says when he pulls back, and she just rolls her eyes and pushes at him until he carefully gets up.  She picks herself up as he asks, “Can you heal me?”

 

“Not that much, not up here.  Isn’t—” she breaks off as a blinding white light explodes through one of the buildings.  “Lucifer?” she asks, and Dean nods.

 

“Yeah, after the trials, Sam was pretty much done for, and he jumped in, should be done healing him in a couple days, he said.  We’ve got his body back at the bunker.”

 

“You found the Men of Letters place?” Abaddon asks, looking over at him in surprise.

 

“Henry gave us the key.”  There’s a short, awkward silence before Dean sighs and reaches for her, pulling Abaddon against him in a one-armed hug.  “Will you stay with me?” he whispers into her hair.

 

She winds her arms around him and buries her face in his chest, breathing in his familiar scent.  “Forever,” she promises.

 

“Dean!” Sam’s voice rings out before he comes jogging out of the building, and Dean looks up as Abaddon steps out of his arms, turning.  Sam slows as he approaches, a wide grin slowly forming.  “Shut up,” he says as he nears them, looking over at Abaddon, “Does he—”

 

“Yeah,” she says, beaming, “He remembers.”

 

“Fucking _finally_ ,” Sam says, rolling his eyes, “Dude, that shit sucked, watching you not know who she was.  It’s good to finally meet you for real,” Sam adds, “I’m having this incredible urge to hug you, but I’m pretty sure that’s Lucifer.”

 

“So, you two ended up getting along?”

 

“Getting along,” Dean snorts, “You make it sound as though they’re not constantly having wild sex that leaves the entire bunker smelling like ocean every freaking day.”

 

“Lucifer’s living in the bunker with you?” Abaddon asks, looking at Dean.

 

“Yeah,” Sam says with a nod, “You will, too, right?  Or, I mean—shit, sorry, I figured you probably would have already asked.”

 

“We were getting there,” Dean says, shrugging, “How you feeling?”

 

“Good, good.  Took care of those military demons,” he says the last part directed to Abaddon, “Smartass work there, but please tell me that’s not the new thing.”

 

“Not anymore,” Abaddon admits, and Dean grins, reaching for her hand and swearing when his shoulder moves.

 

“Dude, heal me,” he whines at Sam, flapping his hand at him.

 

Sam changes immediately, shoulders getting a little more relaxed, a smirk flitting across his mouth, and he touches Dean casually, healing his broken shoulder and nose, cleaning away the blood.  He turns toward Abaddon with a fond smile and says, “My child.”

 

“Daddy,” she says before stepping forward and embracing him tightly.

 

Lucifer returns the hug, sighing softly.  When he pulls back, he smiles before Sam is back, and they head off together, Dean tangling his and Abaddon’s fingers together as they go.

_I hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallowed ground._

The journey home is about fourteen hours, Dean at the wheel and Abaddon at his side, feet tucked under his thighs while she leans against the car door and watches the world go by.  When Dean pulls over to let Sam behind the wheel, Abaddon makes a soft noise, toes flexing under Dean’s thigh, and he grins.

 

“Yeah, okay,” he says, and he starts to get out when she suddenly shifts, body moving gracefully until she’s straddling him, kissing him lightly, and then squeezing between him and the door.  Dean just laughs and scoots over while Sam makes an obnoxious noise from the back.

 

“Don’t be gross, yeah?  I’m still here,” Sam grumbles even as he goes horizontal, getting comfortable and closing his eyes.

 

Dean’s about to snap back something ridiculous when Sam says, in his Lucifer voice, “I’ll keep him entertained.”

 

“Thanks, man.”

 

He’s been hard since it sunk in that this was it, he had his lady back, and he didn’t have to worry about anything anymore, and then it had hit him that _his lady was back_ , and that was about eleven hours ago.  He waits, though, making sure Abaddon’s got the basics down—because lady or not, this is his baby she’s driving, and hot damn if that isn’t a dirty and a half thought.

 

Abaddon sets out on the open road, learning the feel of the Impala and grinning when it purrs beneath her.  “I could get used to this,” she admits, rubbing a hand fondly over the steering wheel, “She moves beautifully.”

 

 

“She’s the love of my life,” Dean says, grinning when Abaddon shoots him a quick glare.  He shifts, bringing his left knee up under him, leg folding over his ankle, and he lays a hand over her thigh as he leans close, breath ghosting against her ear, and he says, “Someday, I’m gonna lay you in that back seat and fuck you under the stars.”

 

“Oh, darling, you can do better than that,” she says, kissing him lightning quick.

 

Dean laughs softly as her legs spread a little, welcoming him, and he wants to pull them over so bad and just have his way with her, but he can only go so far without feeling weird that Sam’s in the back, Lucifer or not.

 

And so, Dean slides his hand up to her belly, rubbing a thumb over her soft skin before he tugs open the button on her tight jeans and pushes down the zipper.  He lets his hand slide lower, curling over black lace as he presses his mouth to her jaw, kissing lightly.  He holds her there, closes his eyes and remembers her, and Abaddon sighs just at the nearness of him.

 

“Dean,” she says on an exhale, and Dean groans, fumbling with his left hand to get his own jeans undone.  “Don’t.  I want to.”

 

“Yeah,” he agrees even as he yanks down his zipper and shoves a hand down his boxers, palming his throbbing cock.  He groans, pressing his face against her shoulder, and it’s been so long since anything felt worth it, felt _good_.

 

Dean pulls his right hand back up to slip under the lace, and Abaddon lets out this breathy moan that goes straight to his dick when he slides a finger between her folds, coming to rest against her clit.  She’s so wet and warm, and Dean just wants to bury himself there, to feel her shatter apart around him, to feel her come with his cock inside of her, to follow her over the edge, filling her with him in every possible way.

 

“Dean,” she gasps, knuckles white against the steering wheel.  He tries to keep his hand slow on his cock, but it has been _years_ since he last was with her, and he matches the rhythm of his fingers in her pussy, rubbing and pressing, feeling her shift against him, the muscles in her thighs tightening and trembling until she lets out this pitched whine, soft and quick, and Dean darts his fingers down, dives two inside of her and rubs her clit quickly with his thumb.  He curls his fingers, groaning as her inner walls flutter, clenching, so warm it makes him groan.

 

“I want to be inside of you,” he mumbles against her shoulder, and then she’s slapping a hand against the steering wheel and biting hard on her bottom lip.  Dean reaches up, kissing just under her jaw, sucking the skin there in between his teeth and bruising her.  He can hear the noise she wants to make when she comes, choked back and swallowed down, and he shifts his fingers inside of her, slowing his thumb until she makes a soft noise, and he pulls back, watching her come down.

 

Her breaths come unsteadily, and he drops back against the seat, his dick so hard it almost hurts, his fingers curled around the base.  “Abaddon,” he says with a soft groan, and her right hand comes off the wheel, slapping at his wrist until he takes his hand away, and she curls tight, red nailed fingers around his cock and jacks him quickly.

 

Dean drops his head back, squeezing his eyes shut.  Her thumb presses over the head of his cock, nail sliding with it, and Dean swallows down a shout, hips shifting up off the seat slightly before he reaches for his shirt, hiking it up as he feels his stomach tighten, and he turns his head, opening his eyes to look at her, his demon, his Abaddon.

 

She meets his gaze for a second, glances down at his cock and grins, and then looks back at the road, and then she squeezes, bringing him right over the edge.  Dean chokes back an embarrassing noise as he comes in long, thick ropes across his stomach, cock pulsing in her hand, and she works him through it, grin widening when he whines and tries to shift away from her.  He’s about to say something unintelligible, but then she lifts her hand and licks the come from her fingers, and he just groans, watching her.

 

She flashes him a smirk, and it makes Dean want to laugh.  He will never let anyone take her from him again, not now that he’s finally got her back right where they both belong.

 

——

 

When they finally get back to the bunker, Abaddon gets out of the car and stretches, hands linking together above her and pushing up toward the sky.  Dean watches her with a soft smile before he goes to the trunk to unload some of their stuff, leaving most of it in there.  When he comes around and brushes a hand against Abaddon’s lower back, settling there, she smiles and turns into him, kissing him softly.

 

“I want a bath, a fuck, and to steal some clothes.  In that order,” she adds, grinning.

 

Dean laughs and nods, kissing her.  “I think I can manage that.  Come on.”

 

When they get inside, Sam pulls Dean aside with a hand on his elbow, and Dean rolls his eyes when he sees Sam’s fighting a smirk.  “Shut up,” he says, and Sam just laughs softly.

 

“Listen, Lucifer and I are gonna get takeout, and—”

 

“Yeah, you gonna switch between the two of you to get a good conversation in?” Dean teases, so Sam punches him.

 

“Dickhead,” he grumbles, but he’s grinning, “I’m trying to give you space for Abaddon.”

 

“I know.  Thanks, man.  We’ll try not to be ridiculous, okay?”

 

“Yeah, like you did in the car?” Sam says before he gives Dean a shove and heads off.  Dean just makes a face at his back before he goes over to where Abaddon’s lingering in the front room, looking around.

 

“I never thought I’d actually be in here,” she admits, smiling as Dean slides his fingers through hers, squeezing her hand.

 

“If you try to destroy it, we have a dungeon.”

 

“Lock me up if I’m naughty?” she purrs, grinning wickedly before she turns in against Dean and drops a hand over his crotch, palming him lightly.

 

“Mm,” Dean hums, leaning down to kiss her softly, “Come on, you.”

 

He drops his small bag on the table, tugs her away, and they head out of the main room and deeper into the bunker until they reach the sleeping quarters, and Dean leads her down a long hall until they get to the end, where two doors sit across from one another.  “That’s Sam’s room,” Dean says, nodding to the right, “The walls are soundproof, so it’s not weird with Lucifer, thankfully.  And this is us.”  He opens the door to his room, and Abaddon steps in, looking around with a soft smile.  Dean comes in behind her, closing and locking the door.  He winds his arms around her and breathes her in, eyes slipping shut as she curls her arms around his.  “I’ve missed you,” he whispers against her neck, “I looked for you for so long, and then that _bastard_ took you from me.”

 

“It’s okay, darling,” Abaddon murmurs, leaning back against him, “We’re back now, we’re together.”  She turns in his arms, smiling widely up at him, “We have some catching up to do, though.”

 

Dean smirks and then dips forward, arm curling under Abaddon’s knees, and she lets out a shout of surprise, clinging to him as he lifts her off the ground and into his arms.  “You’re gonna bridal style me, really?” she teases, and so he shifts her again until she’s tossed over his shoulder, and he slaps a hand against her ass before heading for the bathroom.  Abaddon just laughs and bites the back of his neck.

 

When he sets her down in the bathroom, they can’t get their clothes off fast enough.  Abaddon tears out of her jacket, yanks her shirt over her head, and then reaches for the tap on the separate bath.  Dean’s _in love_ with the bathrooms in the bunker—they each have a standing glass shower _and_ a separate bath.

 

He sheds his layers, jacket, flannel, and shirt as she gets the water right, and then they’re both shimmying out of their jeans, and Dean can’t wait any longer.  He reaches out for Abaddon, pulling her against him, and then they’re kissing furiously, Dean’s hands going around to yank open the clasp on her bra even as Abaddon’s go down to his boxers.  They finish undressing each other, and then Dean feels Abaddon’s legs spread and tighten, and he reaches for her even as she jumps, legs curling around him and hooking against the base of his spine and the curve of his ass.  He tilts his head up, not breaking their kiss until Abaddon bites his bottom lip, hard and sharp and fast, drawing blood, and she leans back to lick over it, tasting him.

 

Dean walks them to the bath, braces one arm around her as he reaches with the other to steady himself, and he carefully steps inside, lowering down until they’re surrounded by hot water.  Abaddon shifts, thighs spreading until her knees settle on either side of him, and she curls her body away from Dean, leaning down to kiss him until they’re both breathless, and then she slides a hand between them, fingers tightening around his cock, and she sinks down onto him, pulling him inside of her.  “Oh, _fuck_ ,” she groans, head tipping back as she settles in his lap, his thick cock fully inside her tight cunt, and she’s missed this more than she’ll ever admit.

 

“Dean,” she whines when he shifts, and she brings her head back up to look down at him.  “My Dean,” she says, lifting her hands to curl around his jaw, and then they’re kissing, soft and slow, and what had started out as something needy and angry turns into something careful and loving.

 

They move together slowly, entranced by the nearness of one another, and it’s the first time they’ve made love knowing each other’s names, and, when Abaddon gasps Dean’s name and squeezes her arms around his neck, burying her face in his damp skin, he holds her close to him and just breathes her in.

 

The water is creeping toward lukewarm when Dean tangles his fingers in Abaddon’s red curls and kisses her hard, and then they’re just pressed together, breaths evening out until Dean feels a tremor go through Abaddon, and he lifts her head from his chest, frowning.  “Abaddon,” he whispers, thumb darting out to wipe at her tears, “Why are you crying?”

 

“I never thought I’d find you again,” she admits, looking down at him, “I never thought that I’d get back to you, and when I did, you weren’t _you_ anymore, and I wanted to die.”

 

“Abaddon,” he sighs, pulling her back against him, “I love you.  I’m not going anywhere.  No one can ever pull us apart again, I promise.  I’ll kill them if they try.”  She laughs softly against his chest and closes her eyes, content in the circle of his arms.  After a few minutes of silence, Dean rubs a wet hand over her back and says, “Wanna take a shower and then sleep?”

 

“More than anything,” Abaddon says, leaning back to kiss him before she climbs out of the bath.  Dean drains the water before he follows her into the shower, and they clean up quick before heading out into the bedroom.  They sleep tangled together, naked limbs entwined so that there is no beginning and ending between them.

 

——

 

In the morning, when Abaddon wakes, Dean is still asleep, and the sun is pouring through the window, draped lazily over him, and he’s so beautiful that Abaddon can’t help but kiss his bare, tan, freckled skin, soft and easy, just a press of her lips against his shoulder.

 

She’d missed being able to just look at him, to admire how truly handsome he was, and it makes her face ache from how wide she’s smiling.  Dean stirs, and she rests her head on her pillow again, grey eyes watching him as he turns his head and smiles sleepily at her.  “Morning, beautiful,” he whispers, tilting his chin up as his eyes slip shut again.

 

Abaddon laughs softly before leaning forward to kiss him, soft and slow and so wonderful.  When she pulls back, she stays against him, noses touching.  She scoots closer until she can slide a leg along his back and rest is against the backs of his thighs, hand coming up to spread over his shoulder before she starts tracing random patterns between his freckles.

 

“I miss you,” she whispers, and Dean rubs their noses together before kissing her.

 

“I miss you, too.  We’re here now, though.  It’s okay.”

 

“I know,” she says, closing her eyes.

 

“Go back to sleep.  It’s too early.”

 

Abaddon smiles and slides as close as she can get, letting her heart slow to the thrum of Dean’s, and she sleeps again.

 

——

 

When they wake again, it’s because Dean’s stomach is grumbling and some delicious smell is wafting into the room.  Dean wakes her by kissing all over her body, and she can feel him smiling as he does so, and then he hits a ticklish patch, and she shrieks, rolling away from him.  He chases after her, laughing loudly, and that’s how they end up with Abaddon pinned to the bed, Dean rubbing slowly against her, and their mouths fused together, kissing hungrily.

 

“I want you inside of me,” Abaddon says when they part, and Dean just groans and reaches a hand between them, and this time it isn’t slow, isn’t easy—this time, it’s rough and fast, and Abaddon is loud and beautiful, body twisting beneath Dean as he thrusts, sharp and quick.

 

The first time she comes, her red nails drag over Dean’s shoulder, breaking the skin, and her heel presses painfully into his lower back, her body arching up toward him.  Dean swears and sucks an angry bruise on her chest, hands holding her hips as he slams into her, unforgiving and so much like Hell he can already feel his orgasm warming his belly.

 

Abaddon slides a leg between them and hooks it over Dean’s shoulder, heel rubbing over his shoulder before her leg is stretching high, and Dean fucks her like they always used to.

 

The second time she comes, her nails scrape against his scalp as she _pulls_ on his short hair, and Dean growls at her, jerking her back against the mattress, one of his thumbnails ripping open the skin on her hip.

 

His whole body is tight, his thighs trembling, and Abaddon is so tight around him, his cock encased in her warm, wet pussy, and he wants to fill her and never leave, stay entwined with her forever, and then her voice pitches upward into a scream, and his name falls from her lips, “ _Dean_!”

 

He comes like he’s been punched, and he groans on an exhale, stilling inside her as she orgasms a final, third time, her inner walls so tight his vision goes white for a second.  When he can see again, they’re pressed together, sweaty and panting, and Abaddon starts laughing, and Dean just kisses her silent through his grin.

 

They manage to disentangle themselves eventually, and they take a quick shower before getting dressed.  Dean throws on a pair of jeans and a green shirt which makes Abaddon reach for him, and then they’re making out against the dresser until he pulls back and bites her lip.  “Food,” he says, and she smiles wickedly up at him.

 

She finds her panties and bra, slips into those, and then rifles through Dean’s clothes until she finds a flannel.  She buttons it up, rolls up the sleeves, and Dean wants nothing more than to toss her onto the bed and fuck her all over again, but _food_.

 

So, they go out into the kitchen where _Lucifer_ , in Nick’s body, is just setting the table, and Abaddon lets out this adorable, high-pitched noise that makes Dean smile, and she runs over to him, jumping into his arms.  They embrace tightly, and Lucifer buries his face in her hair, eyes closing.  “My daughter,” he whispers, and Abaddon breaks a little, squeezing him.

 

“Daddy,” she says in return before she pulls back, “I’ve missed you so much.”

 

He lifts a hand, running it along her face and settling it against her jaw.  “As have I, my darling.  I’m so glad to see you here, on Earth, and with Dean.”

 

Abaddon smiles brightly, looking over at Dean, who’s sitting at the table with his brother, who looks a little rough, a little tired, but altogether healthy.  They spend their morning with good food and amazing conversation, and then they lounge about for a bit, doing the dishes, until Abaddon stretches, the flannel lifting up to the tops of her thighs, and Dean stares longingly at her.

 

She smirks and laces their hands together, leaning up to whisper, her breath hot as it ghosts over his ear, “I want your mouth on my cunt, and then I want to suck your dick until you’re begging me to get off, and only then will I take your cock inside of me and ride you real slow, show you just how much I’ve missed you.  I want you to make me scream, I want you to make me _bleed_ for you, human, and I want to fuck you until I’m sore.”  She kisses his ear, smirks, and says, “And then clothes.”

 

When she steps back, Sam snorts and shoves Dean away from the sink.  “You two are gross,” he grumbles even as Lucifer winds his arms around him and Dean follows Abaddon from the kitchen.

 

It takes them almost two hours before they finally get out of the bunker, but, when they finally do manage to get out of their room, Abaddon is whining about how old and gross her jeans are, she’s wearing Dean’s flannel still, and Dean is laughing unabashedly at her until she jabs him in the side, darts around behind him, and jumps up onto his back.  Dean just keeps laughing, hooking his arms under her legs to hold her steady, and they go out into the main room like this.

 

Lucifer smiles as they head for the stairs while Sam just makes obnoxious noises at them, and Dean flips him off when Abaddon climbs down when they reach the stairs.  When they get in the Impala, Abaddon starts fiddling with the radio until she settles on Metallica, and Dean leans over to kiss her hard before he pulls out.

 

They spend their afternoon goofing off in various shops, Abaddon strutting around in her new clothes and showing them off until Dean can’t stop grinning.  They go out for dinner, Abaddon demanding they be romantic and act like it’s a date, and then Dean drives them to a wide field where they lay on the hood of the Impala, wrapped together, and watch the stars.

_A man who’s pure of heart and says his prayers by night,_

_May still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright._

They have their first argument outside of Hell just over a month since they’ve been reunited.

 

It’s late, but they’ve been working on a case close to the bunker, and so Dean and Sam are at the table, Lucifer lounging in an armchair nearby, legs tucked up beneath him as he reads Rilke, while they pour over various files when Abaddon returns from a three-day disappearance.

 

When the door opens, Dean’s head snaps up.  She _has_ been in contact because they gave her a cell phone, and she promptly set her ringtone to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ _Heads Will Roll_ , but he hates being away from her for long, hates thinking about that stretch of time when he didn’t even know who she was.

 

And so, when she comes in, his smile is already forming when he notices the blood caked over her, and she looks so much like she did when she was in Hell that his smile fades.  “Hey,” he says as she comes down the stairs, “Did something happen?”

 

“I was bored,” she says, shrugging one shoulder, and Dean straightens, face dropping into something stony and cold.  Sam follows him, staring at Abaddon with an expression of confusion, and Lucifer actually looks up from his book, frowning.

 

“You were _bored_ ,” Dean repeats, “Meaning you did what?”  Abaddon smirks wickedly, and Dean shakes his head.  “Whose blood is that?” he demands.

 

“Oh, please.  Fuck off with the righteous man act, like we haven’t had this argument a thousand times before.”

 

“ _Exactly_!” Dean yells, slamming a hand on the table, and Sam looks over in surprise, clearly not expecting this reaction.  “ _Countless_ times!” Dean continues, glaring at her, “Earth is no different from Hell!  You can’t just go around _murdering_ people because you’re fucking _bored_!”

 

“Says the man that would have broken after only thirty years on the rack!  You think I don’t know what your future looked like without me?  You think I don’t know that you would have eventually accepted Alastair’s hand off the rack and turned on those very souls you swore to protect?  You’re no better than me, _human_!”

 

“But I _didn’t_!” Dean roars, coming around the side of the table and storming toward her.  “I have more willpower than you ever will, _demon_!  You _cannot_ do this shit again, Abaddon!  I don’t care if you enjoy skinning people and feasting on their insides, It’s _wrong_!”

 

“ _Wrong_?” she shrieks, “Oh, please, preach to me about what’s wrong, you—” she breaks off as he gets within reaching distance, and she darts a hand forward, curling in his hair and yanking him forward.  Dean grabs at her throat and jerks her backward.

 

“ _Dean_!” Sam yells, starting to move, but Lucifer shakes his head.

 

“They need to,” he says softly, not looking at Sam, “They need to know what their strength is on Earth.  They need to know they cannot fight as they did in Hell, not without consequences.”

 

“Whose is it?” Dean shouts, shoving her from him.

 

“Oh, tough guy, gonna put your hands on me.  Is that the best you’ve got, _asshole_?”

 

Abaddon reaches behind her, grabs the first heavy item her hand hits, and throws it at Dean as hard as she can.  He only just barely ducks it, and it cracks against his shoulder.  He lets out a pained yell before he lunges for her, and then they’re fighting.

 

Sam hasn’t seen someone hold their own against Dean outside of himself in a _long_ time, and he finds himself nodding in appreciation as he watches Abaddon and him duke it out.  “Will she use her powers on him?” he asks, not looking away from them.

 

“Never,” Lucifer says with confidence, “She didn’t in Hell, and I doubt she will here.  She knows what damage she could cause if she did.”

 

Sam sees it happen before Abaddon does, and he sighs as Dean twists a hand in her hair, jerks her back painfully so her head slams off one of the other tables, and then he’s pressing a knife against her throat.  “Think that’ll hurt me?” she hisses, her throat rubbing against the blade until blood runs.

 

Dean closes his eyes and holds there before he lets the knife clatter to the table.  He drops his head to her chest, cushioned by her breasts, and she soothes a hand over his head, cradling it.  “Abaddon,” he murmurs, turning his head so he can hear her heart, “You can’t do this.  Not here.  Hunt with us, but don’t kill innocent people.”

 

“They weren’t innocent.”

 

“I don’t want to hear about it, _please_.  Don’t come home covered in blood.  Don’t disappear for days at a time.  I don’t know how to live without you.”

 

Abaddon pushes lightly at him until Dean stands, and she winds her legs around his waist, pulling him back so she can embrace him.  “Okay,” she says against his chest, “But only if you promise to start dancing with me again.”

 

Dean tangles his fingers in her red curls and tilts her head back, leaning down to kiss her red mouth.  “Okay,” he says against her lips, “I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m sorry, too,” she says softly, snuggling back against him, “Are you hungry at all?”

 

Dean smiles and kisses her mess of hair.  “I could eat.  I’ll make us something for dinner, you go clean up.”

 

He steps back, but Abaddon curls a hand in his shirt and pulls him back, lifting her chin so he’ll kiss her.  When they part, she smiles and says, “I love you,” before she hops off the table.

 

“Hey,” Dean says, touching her hand lightly, “I love you more.”

 

“Impossible,” she says, smile widening before she heads off.

 

“You two are absolutely insane,” Sam says as Dean watches her go, and Dean just laughs and nods.

 

“Yeah, I know, but it works.”  He offers Sam a shrug before he heads off for the kitchen.

 

——

 

The next morning, Dean wakes first, and he smiles, carefully extracting himself from Abaddon and sliding out of bed.  She stirs as he goes over to the turntable in the corner of his room, kneeling to sift through his records until he finds an old AC/DC one.  Abaddon yawns and stretches as he flips it in his hands before setting it down and carefully fitting the needle.  _Let There Be Rock_ comes on, and Abaddon laughs before she scrambles out of bed, and they spend their morning dancing and kissing and learning the ways and sounds of each other all over again and singing and just _being_ together until Sam finally comes to get them for breakfast and then to finish off the hunt, and Dean’s not sure he remembers the last time he was this happy.

_If you could only see the beast you’ve made of me,_

_I held it in but now it seems you’ve set it running free._

When the Croatoan virus hits, Abaddon lets out a war cry when Dean says anyone infected is fair game, and they go hunting.  When the demons start to flock to Lucifer, expecting a new apocalypse, he kills them slowly and painfully until they get the hint and flee, looking to Crowley to be their leader.

 

Abaddon finds him, chokes the life from him, drinks down his demon smoke and lets it burn inside her, taking his power into her until her very essence is no longer black, but red as his was.  She tears the flesh from his bones and lets his blood drip down her chin until she’s a mess, and when she finally returns, Dean groans and pulls her to him.

 

About a month into the new war, they set up shop in the bunker, taking in hunters and anyone that seeks protection, and, for the first time in a very, very long time, the entire right wing is occupied, six floors of living quarters.

 

Two weeks after that, Abaddon wakes in the middle of the night with a strange tightening in her stomach, and she leaves the bunker, following the scent of familiar blood until she’s stepping into Purgatory, and Benny’s whistling a terrifying tune as he makes his way toward her.

 

“Hey darlin’,” he says, and she grins.

 

“Benny,” she says in return, and he laughs.

 

“Figures human boy would tell you about me.  I take it you found him eventually, then?  Kid was cracked when I had him, had no clue who you were.”

 

“We made our way back to each other in the end.  Did you call me?”

 

“Might be I did,” Benny says, reaching her and shrugging one shoulder, “Wanna give me a lift topside, darlin’?  Monsters be talkin’ about how it’s a real mess up there, figured I’d get my hunt on with my boy.”

 

“He’ll be happy to see you,” Abaddon says, holding out a hand, and then they’re back on Earth.

 

The next morning, when Dean walks into the kitchen and Benny’s chatting with Sam, he barely says his name before they’re embracing, and they spend half the day catching up and hanging out.

 

When October finally comes around, and past Dean stumbles into Dean, Abaddon is there waiting for them in the bunker.  Her Dean comes in first, though, and he shakes his head at her from the top of the stairs.

 

“I will _not_ —” she begins, but Dean’s frown stops her.

 

“Abaddon,” he says softly, “This will not happen if he remembers you.  We both know that.”

 

“Dean,” she says, her voice cracking, “I can’t live through that again, even secondhand.  It hurt so much the first time.”

 

He closes his eyes, and, when he opens them, she’s gone.  He doesn’t see her until the night that Lucifer kills him, trapped inside Sam’s body, and then he’s gasping awake when past Dean has been brought back to the other present by Zachariah and Lucifer is bringing him back from the dead.  Abaddon appears from the shadows carrying Nick’s body, and, once Lucifer is back where he belongs and Sam is functioning again, they look to Dean.

  
“It’s all set.  He’s forgotten everything,” he says, and Abaddon turns away from him.  Lucifer and Sam leave, and Dean draws her into his arms, holding her tightly.  “It has to be this way,” he whispers.

 

“I know,” she says softly, turning into him, “I hated the look in your eyes when you didn’t know who I was.  I hated _you_.”

 

“I’m right here.”

 

Abaddon looks up at him and offers him a weak smile, so Dean kisses her before stepping away and turning so his back faces her.  Abaddon laughs and jumps, and Dean holds her legs as they head back to the bunker, Abaddon leaning her head against Dean’s.  They walk in silence until the bunker is in sight, and then Abaddon wiggles until Dean lets her down, and she tangles their fingers together.

 

“Dean,” she says, and he looks over at her, smiling.

 

“Abaddon,” he says in return, and she stops them to lift onto her toes and kiss him long and slow.

_Screaming in the dark, I howl when we’re apart._

_Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart._

**Author's Note:**

> THESE TWO. I honestly haven’t felt this passionately about a _Supernatural_ ship since samifer, and I’m so very, very excited about them. I love her so much, and I honestly think she’s one of the most badass villains to come out of this series since Lucifer. Like— _my god_ , she’s fantastic. I’m so in love with her, and I’m so in love with the idea of Abaddean, and it’s just fantastic, and THESE TWO, I CAN’T.
> 
> Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this, and I certainly hope anyone who reads enjoys. It is possible that I’ll be writing a sequel for this, but I’ve left the ending the way it is so that I can go either way. I think it works as closure, but it could also open up into more, so there’s that. I’m not promising anything, just saying it’s a possibility.
> 
> It’s very late as I’m writing this end note, though, and I’m very tired, and I have class in the morning, so I’ll keep this moderately short. Thank you very much for reading, and don’t forget to leave your thoughts!


End file.
